A Prison Tale
by waterside
Summary: An AU story for young Snape, in which Voldemort wants to kill the Longbottoms. It is my answer to the question whether Snape's return to the good side depends on chance - Voldemort's choice - or on something that sets him apart from "real" Death Eaters.
1. The Prisoners

Disclaimer: The characters belong to J. K. Rowling, of course.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 1**

_The Prisoners_

The old man blinked and shook his head disapprovingly. The young man had appeared so quickly that in one moment the street had seemed to be empty, and the next moment he was running past the old man, who had to grab a lamppost to avoid falling over. By the time the old man resumed walking, the young man had reached the door of the last house in the street. He stopped for a short moment. His eyes swept the almost totally deserted street as he looked around anxiously. His face was pale, his shoulder-length hair black like his eyes, in which a dark fire seemed to be burning now.

Severus Snape entered the house and hurried into the kitchen, where he opened the door of an old cupboard in which bottles of all shapes and sizes were stored. They contained liquids of various colours and density. Snape did not have much time to consider which of his potions could be useful for his plan. He was not even sure whether it had been a wise decision to come to his house just to get a few bottles of potion. He was losing valuable minutes when time was short and precious. However, he knew what he was going to do required resources other than just his wand. If things went wrong, his magical powers would not be enough, not against _him_, that was at least quite certain. But he had to hurry. Without thinking too much, he put some bottles into the inside pockets of his travelling cloak. Strengthening Solution, he would probably need that; an antidote; something to heal wounds; Polyjuice Potion, just in case; Veritaserum, perhaps; ... and yes, he needed one more potion. A tiny, round bottle was hiding at the back of the cupboard. It contained the most expensive and difficult one of all his potions, Felix Felicis, liquid luck, which had considerable side-effects when used too often. He, for example, had never tasted it but was storing this tiny bottleful for special occasions. He had no doubt that now that he was about to disobey the Dark Lord's order and defy the Dark Lord's wishes and the Dark Lord's plan, the "special occasion" could easily arise. He could have taken the luck potion immediately but he decided to put it into his pocket instead, like the other potions. The bottle contained enough of the potion to help a person in great trouble, or maybe two if the situation was not very bad. He was saving it for a later moment and - should it be necessary - for someone else rather than for himself.

With his pockets full, he left the house just as hurriedly as he had come. He barely checked if there were any Muggles nearby before he turned on his heel and Disapparated. He did not know exactly where he was going, but the Dark Lord's instructions made it sure he would not miss his destination. When his feet touched the ground again, he was standing in front of a large, greenish rock in the middle of what seemed to be a barren, rocky landscape surrounded by water in the distance on all sides. He touched the large rock with his wand, murmuring the password. For a moment nothing happened. Then a wide, black door appeared on the side of the rock, and was opened a few minutes later by a sinister-looking, bearded man in dirty-grey robes. Without hesitation, Snape handed over to him the seemingly empty piece of parchment the Dark Lord had given to him. He knew the parchment contained a detailed description of his orders and his permission to enter, which no one else would be able to read but the chief of the prison guards, now standing in front of him.

"What are your orders?" the guard asked him. Obviously, he had to check whether the visitor knew what only the Dark Lord's servant could know.

"I have to take a recently captured prisoner to the Dark Lord," he said, sounding as stern as he could manage and pulling up the sleeve of his left arm to leave no doubt in the questioner.

The prison guard, who was the Dark Lord's servant but not a Death Eater, regarded him with a respectful look and opened the door of the prison wide, bowing deep as Snape entered. The prison was gigantic, cold and dark. From the entrance, long, torch-lit corridors were leading in every direction, each lined with large black doors, behind which there were the cells where the Dark Lord's prisoners were kept. Snape was sure not even Azkaban could be bigger or better guarded than the Dark Lord's prison. He had only seen pictures of Azkaban, still the resemblance between the two prisons was obvious enough even though this one was not guarded by Dementors - yet. As he followed the guard into what seemed to be a maze of corridors, Snape was reminded of the sudden urge he had felt a little while before to attack Bellatrix Lestrange, to curse her or, even better, to strangle her with his own hands. It was Bellatrix who had made the triumphant announcement at the meeting earlier that day informing the Dark Lord that two members of the Order of the Phoenix had been captured. They would know where the Longbottoms were to be found - the Longbottoms who were not only Order members but Aurors as well and who therefore kept their address secret so that even the Dark Lord had difficulty finding them. But the Dark Lord did want to find them - because of a prophecy concerning him and the Longbottoms' son. Snape found the prophecy rather ridiculous. He had never cared for Divination at school, a subject that was neither learnable nor predictable and seemed to be simply rubbish when compared with the exact art of potion making. Of course, the Dark Lord did not ask his opinion and he would not have told him anyway how amazed he was to see that the greatest dark wizard of all times took the prediction so seriously.

In fact, it was Snape who had overheard the prophecy and told it to the Dark Lord. At the Dark Lord's order, he had applied for a job at Hogwarts and secured an appointment for a job interview with Dumbledore. When he arrived at the Hog's Head (a rather weird place for a serious meeting), the barman informed him that he had to wait because Dumbledore was interviewing another applicant. Snape was nervous. The Dark Lord expected him to succeed but he was only twenty years old with no experience of teaching at all. He had had good marks at school and he had been interested in the Dark Arts from an early age but how could he be sure that it was enough for him to be hired as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts? He wanted information about the other applicant.

He soon realized that Dumbledore and the woman behind the door were talking about Divination, not Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Dumbledore had just refused her application when her voice changed... It was easy to tell she wanted the Divination position really badly. Just minutes later, Snape was thrown out of the pub, no interview, no teaching job, the barman's growling voice still in his ears and he had to go back that night to the Dark Lord and report on the success of his interview. He was afraid as everyone else would have been in his place, yet had no better idea than tell the Dark Lord exactly what had happened and wait for punishment. The Dark Lord, however, was interested in the prophecy. The Dark Lord made Snape repeat the words he neither understood nor believed. He repeated them several times and made the Dark Lord forget his initial anger at his failure. The Dark Lord even seemed to forget he had wanted a spy at Hogwarts.

After that, the Dark Lord became obsessed with the idea of tracking down a family named the Longbottoms. The latest idea was to capture someone - anyone - who might know anything about them and that was the reason why Snape was now walking behind the grim prison guard, having volunteered to fetch one of the new prisoners so that the Dark Lord himself could question her at Headquarters. Bellatrix had already tortured them both but so far in vain - and at this thought fierce hatred filled Snape's mind again and he clenched his fist in anger. But it would not do to start acting suspiciously now when he had managed to avoid giving himself away in front of Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. To divert his thoughts from Bellatrix, he began watching the corridors and the black doors. "_Where can she be_," he thought, "_in this horrible place_?" "_Anywhere_," he answered his own question but a quiet voice somewhere in his head whispered, "_Everywhere_".

At last the prison guard stopped in front of one of the doors. "Shall I wait for you here, Sir?" he asked.

"No," he said quickly, "no need".

"I will have to lock the door. When you want to leave, knock on the door with your wand and I will come to let you out," the guard said.

Snape entered and the door was closed behind him before he could even look around.

"Lumos," he murmured into the darkness. In the wandlight, he could see movement in a corner. He approached the two human figures, one of whom was sitting on the cold, stone floor of the cell, and the other one was lying motionless, with her eyes closed, her head in her husband's lap. Seeing her in this state, Snape forgot about his original plan at once. He had wanted to act with as cold determination as any Death Eater would, to take her out of that place as soon as possible, until she was safe. Now he sank on his knees by her side without a word. She was alive but very weak.

James Potter was glaring at him, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face.

"You...?" he began.

Snape had no time to give obvious answers to silly questions. He took a potion bottle out of one of his pockets, lifted the woman's head and poured a few drops of potion into her mouth.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Potter grabbed Snape's arm. "WHAT DID YOU GIVE HER? YOU -"

"Strengthening Solution," he answered coldly, freeing his arm, "and you'd better keep your voice down -."

Lily opened her eyes. As she glimpsed Snape, he could see something in her eyes that he had never seen there before. It was fear. She tried to pull away from him.

"I'm here," said Potter in a warm, soothing voice, taking both her hands.

"She has to drink the rest of the potion," Snape said to Potter, not daring to address Lily directly. Lily drank. Soon she was able to sit up, leaning her head against Potter's shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Potter growled.

"Saving her," he said, "I must get her out of here quickly. There is no time to lose."

He wondered how long it would take before the Dark Lord became suspicious and decided to investigate. Lily did not move.

"_Voldemort_ sent you here," Potter said.

It was sheer madness to pronounce the Dark Lord's name in their position. Snape shuddered and got angry now.

"Yes, he did," he snapped, "how else could I enter this place and leave again if not on his orders?"

"And what other things did he order you to do besides coming and leaving, _Snivellus_?" Potter continued, his eyes flashing. He looked at Snape with unmistakable contempt and disgust.

It was Snape who raised his voice now, his face red with fury.

"He ordered me to take her to him for questioning. He wants to torture her himself until he gets the information he needs from her ... or from you! And when that happens, he will kill you both!" He paused. "If you are lucky," he added in a quieter tone.

Lily let out a little scream as Potter jumped on Snape, who barely had time to raise his wand. His Shield Charm threw Potter back but almost immediately he was on his feet again.

"YOU ....WILL ... NOT ... DO ... THAT!" Potter prepared for another attack but Snape's spell stopped him halfway in his movement and he became as motionless and silent as a statue.

"That's the point, you idiot!" spat Snape, glaring directly into Potter's face. "I'm not going to do that, I'm going to take her out of here, to a place of safety! But you may easily get all of us killed if you keep interfering!"

Shaking, Lily got to her feet as well. Snape took a glance at her and quickly lifted the spell that kept Potter petrified. Potter did not attack but seemed ready to fight.

"Understand it now?" hissed Snape.

"I don't know why we should believe you," Potter replied, eyeing Snape's wand.

"Why do you think I'm still here _reasoning_ with you when I could have taken her away by force the moment I arrived as anyone else would have done? In case you didn't notice, Potter, I have a wand while you don't."

James Potter did not answer. He was apparently considering Snape's words. Snape thought of the Dark Lord again. "Do not make me wait too long, Severus," he had told him with a mocking smile on his face after he had given him his orders. Snape had been too preoccupied to worry about the meaning of these words. Nobody would ever dare make the Dark Lord wait, of course. Now it seemed these words sounded as though Snape was given permission to be a little late - but how long would it take before the Dark Lord became impatient?

"What do you mean by a place of safety?" Potter asked, still suspicious.

"Anywhere she wants to go," he said. That was a definite weakness in his plan. He had had no time to think of where he could take her. He had had no time to think beyond getting her out of prison. In fact, he rather hoped Lily would know where she wanted to go.

"And why would you want to save her?"

Snape was silent. He was not prepared for such questions and did not feel like chatting. "_Wouldn't you want to save her_?" he thought bitterly. He cast a quick look at Lily (didn't she understand how little time they had?) and saw her pale face and green eyes, as she was watching them, gathering strength visibly.

"We must hurry," he said at last, trying to sound commanding. He knew the Dark Lord would not wait for ever for a servant and a prisoner. Then he looked at Lily again, almost imploringly. But Lily did not look back at him. She turned to her husband.

"I'm not leaving without you," she said firmly.

This was the first time she had spoken.

"Never."

James Potter took her into his arms in a gesture of protection. The prison cell started to spin with Snape and he tightened his grip on his wand.

"I can't save you both," he said slowly." Don't you understand? The guards have their orders, too. They will never let the three of us leave. Only two can get out." He had not counted on having to explain that. He had not expected to feel so miserable telling Lily there was something he could not do for her.

"I'm not leaving then," she said again.

So that was how it was going to end, Snape thought. He wanted to save her but she would rather die because of Potter. He turned away from them both because he could not bear the sight of them. He spoke again but it was like speaking to the cold walls of stone around them.

"You may want her to die with you, Potter, but I'm warning you the Dark Lord is determined to separate you. The next person he sends here will follow his orders without hesitation. Or he may come here himself. She will be tortured and killed alone and so will you. It won't take long now."

He turned back to face them again and he could see his words this time had really hit home. Potter was as white as a sheet and his voice was quite unlike his usual voice when he spoke.

"Go with him, Lily ... if you think you can trust him."

"No," she said, "I don't want to leave you. I can't."

"Harry needs you. You must go." Potter's voice sounded quite resolute now.

"Go!"

Lily did not answer but her eyes filled with tears. Snape thought he would much rather suffer torture, even death, than watch her cry like that, not being able to help.

Torture and death? _Only two can get out_... The idea struck him like lightning and he even wondered if there was something in him, something completely independent of the rest of Severus Snape, that had secretly known from the beginning that things could come to that. Kneeling onto the floor, he took another bottle out of his pocket, opened it hurriedly and poured half of its contents into the empty bottle of the Strengthening Solution. Then he tore at his hair, almost enjoying the pain he felt, and he put a long, black hair into one of the two bottles. He gently shook the bottle around with one hand, moving his wand over the potion with the other. For a moment he gaped at the shining, silvery colour of the potion, and then he handed the bottle to Potter.

"Drink this quickly," he said. "But first I need a hair from you."

Potter stared at the potion. "What is this?"

"Polyjuice Potion," Lily whispered.

"You see," said Snape, standing up, "she knows. It will make you look like me... for a while."

Potter's eyes widened.

"Long enough for the two of you to get out of here." Snape paused. "She must leave but she won't leave without you so you have to go, too. That is the only way... DON'T STARE, DRINK IT NOW!"

He was afraid his determination would not last long enough but James Potter did not hesitate any more. A minute later Snape had also drunk the potion with Potter's hair in it. Lily closed her eyes.

"I suppose we have to exchange robes," said Snape.

When Lily looked at them again, the man who was standing where Snape had been standing before looked exactly like James Potter and was wearing James Potter's robes. Opposite him stood a Severus Snape who was James Potter in reality. Lily looked from one to the other with a bewildered expression on her face. The two men seemed equally confused as each was glaring at his own image worn by the old enemy and rival. Snape spoke finally, trying hard to concentrate on the practical aspects.

"You have to wear this one, too," he said lifting his travelling cloak from the floor. "Inside its pockets there are some more potion bottles. She will know how to use them."

Potter seemed unable to stop staring at Snape so Lily took the cloak for him.

"Remember that she is your prisoner until you get out," he continued, then took a deep breath. "There is one more thing. You will have to take this."

With these words he offered his wand to James Potter.

"It is part of the disguise," he explained forcing his voice to sound calm and unconcerned. "You will have to knock on the door with this when you want to leave and you may need it later, too."

He did not know how well his wand would work for Potter or Lily but that was the only wand available now and he, after all, would not need it any more. Yet, he turned his head away for a moment. He did not want to see James Potter taking his wand.

As Lily was handing the travelling cloak to Potter, Snape walked away from them. It was time they left. The Dark Lord was surely angry now. Perhaps he would spend a few more minutes thinking Snape was simply taking more time than he was allowed to and designing the appropriate punishment for him before ordering an investigation. He was beginning to feel cold. He did not know if he should say anything more to either Lily or Potter, who had no idea what part he had played in their trouble. This thought reminded him of something.

"If you see Dumbledore," he said to the dark walls in a colourless voice, "tell him the Dark Lord is looking for the Longbottoms. Tell him this is a message from me." He had no doubt that Dumbledore would make the connection to the prophecy he had overheard. A soft hand touched his shoulder.

"Severus," she said.

Snape turned towards Lily. He saw no anger or contempt on her face now, only a light in her eyes that warmed him a little. How many times had he thought he would give up everything for a friendly look from her again? But now he was wondering whether Lily could bear seeing him at all only because he, at that moment, happened to look like Potter. She gave him a long, warm hug - or was that also something given to James Potter's image rather than to him? Yet, it was Lily's hug, her arms around him, her cheek near his. Potter let out a cough that sounded almost like a groan. Lily let go of him.

"Good luck," she said and hurried to James Potter, now in the shape of Severus Snape. The guard came in, glanced around in the cell, nodded as he saw him and left, closely followed by Lily and Potter. Snape watched them leave as though he was watching himself from a distance, his happier, more fortunate self going towards life and freedom with Lily.

As the door closed, darkness fell on the cell and Snape could feel his strength leaving him. While Lily had been there, his main concern had been how to save her. While Potter had been there, he had been careful not to show any weakness or fear that Potter could notice. Now he fell on the stone floor, shaking violently.

After a while, he lifted his head and began to listen. How much time did they need to reach the exit? Had Potter managed to deceive the guards? If anything went wrong, he would perhaps hear some noises. Were there any noises outside at all? He thought of Lily, how unwilling she had been to leave without Potter and how willingly she had left with him. "Good luck," these had been her last words to him as though he was taking part in a contest or was preparing for an exam... Yet, that hug from her was probably the last good thing that had happened to him in life. He had no illusions. He knew no one loved him and no one in the whole world would take the trouble to save him.

Everything was dead silent around him and he wondered how many more minutes it would take before someone arrived to investigate. The chief of the guards would inform the Dark Lord that the Death Eater had already left with the prisoner so they might not come to his cell at once, but the Dark Lord would want to see Potter as soon as he realized Lily was gone. Would he have transformed back into his own shape by that time? It would not matter much of course. He could imagine all kinds of horrors, but he could not know what torture, what death the Dark Lord would choose in his terrible wrath to punish a servant who had betrayed him.

His thoughts wandered back to Lily. Had she been feeling the same, had she been as terrified as he was now? Had Potter been afraid, too? Could brave Gryffindors facing torture and death experience the same terror as someone like him? What about others? He remembered the many dark doors behind which there were other prisoners, enemies of the Dark Lord. Some of them could be alone like him, others in the company of fellow prisoners. They were all awaiting the same fate as he was now because that was the Dark Lord's will. The Dark Lord would have no mercy on them, as he would have no mercy on Lily, and what had Lily done to him? It was all because of a piece of information Lily could have - or not. He, Severus Snape, at least knew why he was going to suffer. He had betrayed the Dark Lord because he had wanted to save Lily and, as he had achieved his goal, he had nothing to regret.

The darkness took all kinds of shapes around him now, and his eyes were trying to penetrate the impenetrable as his mind was desperately trying to grasp the incomprehensible. Nothing to regret? Was he not the one who had given the Dark Lord the prophecy in the first place? That was how it had started. It was because of the prophecy that the Dark Lord wanted to find the Longbottoms. To find them and to kill them. It had never been mentioned what would happen when he finally found them - but did not they all know it anyway? To find the Longbottoms, the Dark Lord had to find other people and he was ready to kill as many as he thought necessary. That was how Lily had got into his way. All because of the prophecy... If only he had foreseen it back then! He had not thought twice, he had believed he would have no choice but to tell the Dark Lord what the Dark Lord wanted to know, but had he known, had he foreseen that Lily would get involved, he would not ever have mentioned the prophecy.

The truth was downing on him, merciless and cruel. He had had a choice after all. He had chosen to talk about the prophecy and he had chosen not to think of the consequences for others. He had been ordered by the Dark Lord to spy on Dumbledore but nobody had ordered him to serve the Dark Lord, who was now, at that very moment, preparing to torture Lily. The Dark Lord was also hunting down the Longbottoms, people Snape did not know, just as he did not know the other prisoners locked up in the same building where he was, - and yet it was his fault that the Longbottoms were in mortal danger now. For all he knew, others in the prison building could also be there because of something he had done. Yes, it was his fault. The darkness in the cell was whispering that to him. It was his fault because he had been part of it. All those people, the Longbottoms, the tortured Lily... He buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

If only he could change what had happened... if only he had the time and the power to make it right somehow... He was going to die looking back on a life in which there was hardly anything that he did not regret. He wiped his face in the sleeve of James Potter's robes. What was the point in feeling regret and remorse if he could do nothing about it any more? Was he a better man now that he understood how he had wasted his life in the service of evil? Would it be easier to die knowing nothing valuable would be lost? He did not know the answers, but there was one thing he felt quite sure about. Even if he was given another chance, if due to some miracle the Dark Lord forgave him or believed him to be innocent, he would much sooner die than serve the Dark Lord again. If he was given the chance to choose again, he would never join the dark side. But it was all in vain now... He would soon pay for everything. He would have to bear what lay ahead. Whatever punishment the Dark Lord would choose for him, it could be nothing he did not deserve. Or could he cheat perhaps, should he try to fight in the hope that it would be over sooner that way?

Instinctively, he reached for his wand but realized, almost immediately, that it was not in his pocket. He did not have a wand any more. Even the robes he was wearing belonged to Potter and would look ridiculously loose on him when he changed back into his own shape. Yet, as he touched a pocket of Potter's robes, he could feel there was something in it, something that Potter had left there, obviously. He took the small, round object into his hands. Any distraction of thoughts would be welcome now. He could not see the object in the darkness but its size and its shape were oddly familiar. He lifted it close to his eyes, opened it, smelt it. The joyfully splashing substance in it was clearly recognizable even in the darkness. He was holding a potion bottle full of Felix Felicis. His very own. Lily must have put it into his pocket when she hugged him.


	2. The Dark Lord

Disclaimer: The characters and the HP world belong to JK Rowling, of course.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 2 **

_The Dark Lord_

James Potter was spending what was left of the longest hour of his life in a forest not far from Godric's Hollow. With his back against an oak tree, he was turning between his fingers a wand that was not his. He was waiting. Lily was walking around him, watching the trees, occasionally casting a half-worried, half-amused look at her husband. She could tell that James, for once, wished she was not looking at him.

"It can't be more than ten minutes now," she said. "Perhaps we could start."

"No," he said. "We'll wait. Ten minutes can't matter much now, I suppose?"

Lily sighed. Much as she was longing to be at home with Harry, she had to admit that ten more minutes' waiting could not make much difference. In the past half hour, they had found an owl that had been willing to take their letter to Bathilda. Thanks to Severus's wand, she had managed to conjure a piece of parchment and a quill so they were able to write a coded message. They had also received a reply and they knew now that Harry was safe and not only Bathilda was with him but Sirius as well. She stepped closer to James and affectionately kissed him on the cheek, but he did not return the kiss, instead he looked a shade more irritated still.

"Don't worry, I know who you are," she said. "We could have got home long ago. Harry would be happy."

"He would not be very happy to see _me_, would he?" James muttered grumpily. "I might just scare him to death."

"He would be happy to see _me_, though," she answered. "You could wait in another room until you transform back. Harry would not be a problem."

"All right, it's not Harry," he growled. "Sirius would be laughing his head off."

Lily smiled in spite of herself. She had to agree with James that Sirius would make the most of the situation, jokewise, if he saw his best friend now. She was reminded of an anecdote that Professor Slughorn had once told the class about an auror who, due to some strange mistake (she could not remember what it was), got stuck for life polyjuiced as his own brother-in-law, a well-known trouble-maker in the wizarding community. She considered telling the anecdote to James but thought better of it. She found his vanity annoying and amusing at the same time, but it was indeed strange to look at James now. The angry expression on his face reminded her of Severus even more than the hooked nose, the dark, deep eyes and the somehow always greasy black hair.

"He has just saved our lives," she said quietly. "Who knows what's happening to him right now?"

"I know," said James resentfully. _Snivellus_ saving his life was a phenomenon beyond comprehension to him. Of course, Snape had wanted to save _Lily_, not _him_, yet the incredible fact remained that Snape was voluntarily risking almost certain death so that they _both_ could live.

"At least now we know where that prison is," he said suddenly. "If Dumbledore finds out how to break the protective spells around the island, we can return and free all the prisoners in that huge building."

"Yes," said Lily, lost in thought, walking down a narrow forest path. She knew that James sincerely meant what he had said. Freeing a lot of people was important, of course. It was another matter that Severus did not have time to wait for their return with Dumbledore. The effect of the Felix Felicis could not last longer than twelve hours - not even the luck potion would guarantee his survival after that. Besides, she was not even sure whether Severus had noticed the potion bottle in his pocket at all. She had wanted to give it to him in the very last minute, without giving him a chance to protest, but now she could not tell whether he knew about it or not. She stopped by a small clearing in the shade of the surrounding trees and began to watch, from behind a tree, a spot dotted with white flowers and illuminated by the light of the September sun filtering through the golden leaves.

"Lily!"

She started at the call. She turned and saw James running towards her. He stopped as he reached her, a broad grin on his face.

"We can go."

* * * * *

It was unbelievable. His hands were clutching the tiny potion bottle, the last thin thread that was connecting him to life, as though he was afraid it might disappear. He had wanted Lily to have the luck potion; but Lily had given it back to him. For a moment he was savouring the realization that Lily had wanted to help him, the realization that she had not left him to his fate without a thought after all. Lily wanted him to drink the potion. He lifted the bottle to his lips but suddenly became aware of an ominous feeling. The effect of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off and the somewhat unpleasant transformation back to his own shape had begun. He knew enough about potions to realize that it was not a good moment to take the Felix Felicis. With fingers awkwardly stretching, he closed the bottle and put it back into his pocket. He would not have to wait more than a minute or two.

He heard a noise from the direction of the door and immediately a sharp, blinding light penetrated the darkness of the prison cell so that he instinctively covered his eyes with his hands. When, with contracted pupils, he looked again, the first thing that he saw was a pair of black boots walking towards him. The door closed and he slowly raised his head. With a wand pointing straight into his face, the Dark Lord was standing over him, looking both furious and puzzled. It took several seconds before he spoke.

"Well, Severus? Where are they?"

His voice was full of menace. Snape was kneeling in front of him in the usual position of Death Eaters who had displeased their lord, but he did not remotely regret what he had done. He had no means of defending himself, he could not even think of trying to use the luck potion now but the Dark Lord's question made it clear to him that Lily had indeed escaped and was alive and free and that was what counted. The rest... the rest was a fair price for Lily's life; Lily's, who had just proved that she cared for him, too, a little.

"They're gone," he said to the black boots.

"What do you mean by _gone_?" The voice above him was quiet and smooth and reminded him of the tense, muggy silence just before a terrible storm. The question was obviously a rhetoric one, but he took strange comfort from answering it.

"Left... Escaped... Free..."

"I wonder how it is possible that one of my Death Eaters, who comes here on my orders, with his wand in his hand, lets two disarmed prisoners escape."

He saw the Dark Lord's wand move but it was only the standard punishment for ineptitude.

"Crucio!"

He pressed his lips tightly together but it was impossible not to shout as the curse hit him. He felt unbearable, terrible pain in his head and in his limbs and in every inch of his body. After a while, the pain stopped, as suddenly as it had started, but he knew that he had merely received a taste of the Dark Lord's revenge.

"The guard told me," said the Dark Lord, "that you had left with the woman, in accordance with my orders. Can you explain that?"

He was racking his brains to think of a plausible lie that could help. He had been Disarmed; the guard may have been Imperiused or Confunded... He looked up, directly into those terrifying eyes and answered.

"He told you what he had seen."

He was sure that he had finally sealed his own fate now. He did not understand why he had not lied but a moment later he saw that lies would not have helped him anyway. The Dark Lord took a few steps towards the wall and his boot touched one of two empty potion bottles left on the floor. None of them had thought of removing them and now it was too late.

"Two prisoners," the Dark Lord was walking towards him again, "two prisoners disarmed and properly searched for all magical items - how could they have Polyjuice Potion with them here?"

He did not answer but forced himself to look into the Dark Lord's eyes again. Lying was no use. He did not try to hide his thoughts. Soon he could see on the Dark Lord's face that he knew what had happened but could not believe it.

"Who told you to do that?" he asked finally. He seemed to be determined to find out who was behind it all. But Snape had never liked others taking credit for anything that was his idea. The fact that he was going to die did not change that.

"No one told me. I wanted to do it," he said.

He saw a flash of light, he heard the word _traitor_ and then the spell again. The torture lasted longer this time or so it seemed. He was howling, moaning and whimpering, still the pain continued. When it was over at last, all he could feel was a wish to die in that instant. He lay motionless, with the instinct of a hunted and injured animal pretending to be dead already, but the interrogation had not finished. There was still something that the Dark Lord wanted to know.

"I thought you cleverer than that, Severus," he said, apparently somewhat calmer as though torturing the _traitor_ made him feel better. "You must know what traitors can expect. You could have shared my glory and my power if you had been loyal to me, but now you are going to die a horrible and disgraceful death. What made you do it? What were you hoping to gain by risking so much? Why did you betray your lord in such a stupid way?"

Snape was reminded of Potter's question. "_Why would you want to save her_?" He had not answered then but Potter did not really need to be answered. Potter knew, Potter had known it years before, when he had personally seen to it that nothing, absolutely nothing, would be left of the pride of the rival male to enable him to look at Lily with any hope of being liked, admired or wanted. Potter knew. But he... he had never told it to anyone. He had never confessed it to Lily and he had never had friends to confide in. He could sense that the Dark Lord's question was genuine this time. The Dark Lord really wanted to know what power it was that had made his servant forget where he belonged, forget his vow of loyalty, forget his master's favour, forget his fear of him and his fear of death and defy the orders of the most powerful dark wizard in the world. Snape had never talked about the reason, but now ... perhaps now he could take this last opportunity to say it aloud just once before he died. With enormous effort, he struggled to his feet. Shaking and bruised, he was standing face to face with this most terrible of wizards, ready to tell him the reason.

"I love her."

"Love? - Love???"

The Dark Lord seemed to be about to laugh.

"You are a fool, Severus Snape, and you will die for being a fool! Don't you see what the stupidity you call _love_ has made of you? What good is love to you now?"

Snape was silent and the Dark Lord was thinking, occasionally shaking his head as though in disbelief. Finally he stared into Snape's eyes once more.

"I want the truth, Severus. You could have run away with the _Mudblood_ if you had wanted, but what about the man? Couldn't you have left him here for my sake?"

He could have done it. He would have done it. He had almost done it.

"Or do you love him, too, by any chance?"

"No," he said perhaps a bit too quickly. "She ... needs him."

"Needs him?"

The Dark Lord glared at him and there was vitriol in every word that he uttered.

"Why don't you say she _loves_ him? She went with him and left you to die here while _they_ stay alive. She chose him, didn't she? She loves _him_, not you... and you... you will die in vain because you will get no reward at all for your _love_. It's not worth it, Severus... It's not worth it. I can only hope that others will learn from your mistake when they hear your story and see your fate. Perhaps you, too, have understood it by now how you have thrown away your life and everything that could have been yours just to save a woman who does not need you!"

Snape had no strength to defend his mind against the Dark Lord. Yes, he had done exactly that. He forgot about the Felix Felicis that Lily had given him, and he only saw Lily clinging to Potter, loving Potter more than her own life, loving Potter in a way no one had ever loved _him_. He knew that the Dark Lord saw it too and that he had said nothing that was not in Snape's mind. Despair overpowered him and there was no comfort for him anywhere because even if he died a thousand deaths for her, Lily would love Potter and not him.

But the Dark Lord was not quite done with him yet.

"You needn't have been hurt at all. You could have been sorry for her for a day, but her pain was not your pain, her death wouldn't have been your death, and there are so many other women in the world. Some of them could like even you."

The Dark Lord sneered and began to pace up and down in the cell as he continued.

"Or, if you wanted this Mudblood of all women, well, your lord and master only needed some information from her. I could have given her into your power afterwards. Perhaps she would have _loved_ you then. Nothing, Severus, _nothing_ is worth dying for!"

Her pain was not his pain... her death would not have been his death... The memory that these words recalled was now a memory of Lily tortured and weak, lying on the floor of the prison cell, afraid of him. The memory was painful, horrible. Lily in his power? Lily loving him _then_? That was not what he wanted and what he had been longing for. The Dark Lord knew nothing about love. Suddenly he heard, almost as he had heard it in reality a little while ago, Lily saying his name. She had hugged the shape and the image of James Potter, but she had said _Severus_, she had pronounced _his_ name, as she would never have pronounced it if she had ever been in his "power", as the Dark Lord said. There was still one thing that could not be taken away from him. He would not give it up on his own. This thought gave him new strength.

"She is worth it" he said, not caring, truly not caring this time, what would happen next. "You don't understand. She does not have to love me. I would die a thousand deaths to save her."

There was nothing unpredictable or original in the Dark Lord's reaction to that. Snape had never thought such pain existed. He was trying to think of Lily, trying to remember that everything that was happening to him had a reason and a purpose, but soon all thoughts, memories and emotions fell out of his mind, like fine grains falling through the holes of a sieve, leaving behind nothing else but the coarse lumps of pain, which could not be separated into headaches and backaches after a while but formed a continuum of pain from head to toe. Then came the moment when he could not feel the pain any more, and nothing could stop him, for now he was falling, falling into deep, unconscious darkness.

The darkness stayed with him when he came to. It took him a while to recall the exact details of where he was and what had happened. The memories were frightening, still what frightened him most was the fact that he had been unconscious and did not even know for how long, much less what might have happened during that time. His body hurt in several places and he had a severe headache, too, though it was only the shadow of the Cruciatus Curse. Everything was dark, but the smell of the place and the feel of the floor made it likely that he was still in the same prison cell. The Dark Lord must have already left but he could come back any time, or he may have decided to leave him in the cell to die. Or he could even be there with him in that very moment, waiting in the darkness for him to be able to feel pain again. He tried to move his limbs but it was even more difficult than he had expected. At the same time, he heard a strange clanking noise. A shiver ran through him as he realized what it was. A large, heavy chain had been fastened to his right leg, a prison within a prison. There was no scream or cry to express the horror that he was feeling. He stared into the darkness silently for a few moments, then curled up on the floor and tried to empty his mind. He wanted to get rid of all emotions, to feel nothing, to become as cold and indifferent as a piece of stone.

It was not to be.

"Why don't you drink now?"

The voice was clear and loud and not even vaguely familiar. Snape jumped, or rather, he would have jumped if the chain had not pulled him back. But it did and he hit himself hard on the stone floor. He muttered a few swearwords, sounding feeble and hoarse because his cries and howls had made his throat sore, and he peered into the darkness but saw no movement, no sign of life around him. Yet, unless he was going mad or the walls had been enchanted by the Dark Lord to talk to him (neither of which he could rule out), there was someone in the cell with him.

"Who are you?" he said, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

There was a long silence and he was beginning to think he had only imagined the voice, when it spoke again.

"I said, if you still want to drink that potion, you'd better do it now, before he comes back!"


	3. A Stroke of Luck

Disclaimer: The characters and the HP world belong to JK Rowling, of course.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 3 **

_A Stroke of Luck_

The Felix Felicis ... how could he forget? Did he still have it? He did. It was in his pocket, where it had been, the bottle was unbreakable, and the potion was in it, too. Suspicion was inevitable though. Was it still the _same _potion in the bottle? The Dark Lord might have searched him, found the bottle and replaced its contents with something else just for the sake of a dark joke... He opened the bottle and examined its contents as thoroughly as he could. Although he could not be deceived easily, underestimating the Dark Lord would be a grave mistake. The potion did seem to be Felix Felicis. The Dark Lord knew a thousand ways to make him even more miserable, but the real potion could be his only chance. He could do with some luck ... dying quickly would count as good luck to him now. He drank the potion and looked round in expectation. Perhaps he was hoping that the walls would melt away and a wand would fall into his lap from the sky. It did not happen. Nothing had changed, yet nothing was the same as it had been.

The walls did not melt, the cell was just as dark, and the chain was just as heavy as before. _He_ had changed. A new hope ran through his veins, the certainty that not everything was lost yet, that something could still happen, that something would indeed happen to turn his fate around. He could even be patient because not even time was against him now. He was sure whoever had reminded him of the potion had given him good advice. The voice...... He needed to find out the origin of the mysterious voice.

"Who is there?" he asked with more confidence this time, knowing that the stranger was benevolent.

The reply was another question, and the voice was now small and tired.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well," he said hesitantly, "we are roommates, apparently, and since we can't see each other, I thought -"

"I can see you."

It could be a joke but he did not mind.

"In that case, it is enough if _you_ introduce yourself to me."

"I can make some light if you want to see me," said the voice.

Was there someone with a wand in the cell? He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He waited but nothing happened. The other person might have left the place.

"Please," he said anxiously, not knowing what else to say.

A moment later, the prison cell was illuminated by a beam of light radiating from above. He looked round but he could see no one. His eyes fell on the chain and he gave a slight shudder. Then he looked up to find the source of the light and could hardly believe his eyes. The light came from a source near the ceiling, where a small, round hole was in the wall, serving as a sort of "window". He had not noticed it before because the hole did not allow any light to enter from outside, and its only function was probably to provide some fresh air for the prisoners. Sitting in the window-hole, cross-armed and cross-legged, was a tiny creature, most similar to a miniature girl, except for the fact that she, literally she, not a wand or another instrument in her hand, was radiating like a living candle, brightening the cell with a faint, silvery beam of light.

Snape's mouth fell open with astonishment, but he remembered to close it, as he saw the little creature gazing down at him with somewhat nervous curiosity on her face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Call me Vil," she said quietly.

Snape was in fact more interested in what_ she_ was than in what her _name_ was because she did not resemble any creatures he had ever seen, read or learned about, but Vil did not seem to want to give any more information about her identity. He tried a different question.

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm trapped... like you," she said in a voice close to crying,

It did not add up. Snape found it hard to imagine that the Dark Lord was interested in capturing beings like her.

"Can't you escape?" he asked tentatively.

"Do you think I would be here if I could?"

"I just thought ... perhaps you could do magic."

She directed her light pointedly at the enormous chain.

"I thought a wizard could do magic, too."

He flushed.

"Wizards need their wands for most types of magic."

"How pathetic," she said.

She appeared to be a little angry now, and Snape felt offended.

"What about you?" he asked sharply.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" she replied with a trace of sarcasm in her voice, but then she became serious again. "I'm not strong enough ... There has been too much ... darkness recently and I cannot live without light. Not for long. The journey here almost killed me."

Her voice trailed away. She seemed more vulnerable than anything Snape had ever seen before.

"How did you get imprisoned?" he asked.

There was no reply. Snape got tired of looking upwards at her and the answers she gave did not encourage him to speak so he sat silently for a while. The sight of her helplessness seemed to rob him of his new-found hope. The chain clanked unpleasantly whenever he shifted therefore he stayed as still as he could. His mind, however, became even more active and he could not help wondering how the mysterious creature had appeared in the cell and how she knew of the Felix Felicis. Finally he decided to resume the conversation although he suspected that he was not going to like the answer to his next question.

"How long have you been here?"

"I came today ... before you," she said. "I was here all the time though none of you noticed."

"You have seen a lot," he muttered, embarrassed that there had been a witness to his agonies, pains, fears and loneliness. "Why did you reveal yourself to me?"

It took her a long time to give an answer.

"I thought you needed help ... needed to be reminded. What potion was it?"

"Luck potion," he answered quietly, staring at the floor. "Heaven knows I need some luck now."

"I was watching you," she continued wearily, "... I saw what you did ... saw her give you the potion... I thought it could be important."

There was an awkward silence. It seemed speaking had exhausted Vil, because she was trembling now as though with fever, dangling dangerously on the edge of the hole. Snape was pondering something.

"Why don't you jump?" he suggested. He was quite sure that it was a good idea.

"I don't want to kill myself!" she protested, horrified. "Besides, I'm safer up here."

"How many times have you seen this door", he indicated it with his hand, "open today? You could have slipped through it unnoticed perhaps."

"I can't jump," she shook her head. "It's too dangerous."

"I can catch you if you jump this way", he said and dragged himself as close to her as he could.

"You may miss me."

"You can trust me."

She hesitated.

"Can I really?"

"I'm not very dangerous at the moment," he said with grim irony. "The Dark Lord made it sure for you."

She shuddered.

"He is evil. Don't speak of him to me," she said. "I will jump."

A moment later she landed smoothly in Snape's outstretched palm. She was small enough to just about fit into his hand. She looked pale, sad and very weak as though she was ill.

Words failed him because feeling her in his palm stirred up strange emotions in him and he had been unprepared for it. All of a sudden, her light went out and the cell became dark again. He understood at once what it was that she had sensed sooner than he did. He put her into his pocket just a moment before he could see again the cold light of the Dark Lord's wand.

"Feeling better?" he snarled. "You have had plenty of time to rest and to regret what you did today."

Snape watched him approach quite composedly. The Dark Lord was just as angry with him as before, yet he felt absolutely certain that he could not be hurt, not while the effect of the Felix Felicis lasted.

"I don't regret what I did today," he said.

"You should," said the Dark Lord, regarding him with an icy smile. "Tonight you will regret that you were born at all."

"And you think the experience will be new to me?" Snape said calmly, astonished at his own courage.

He could sense the Dark Lord's fury rising, but something deep inside assured him that further infuriating the Dark Lord was the best that he could do. The Dark Lord flicked his wand. The chain fell off Snape's leg and at the same time another, much smaller chain appeared on his right wrist, the other end of which was attached to the Dark Lord's left wrist.

"I see you are ready for the little farewell party that I prepared for you. All my Death Eaters will be there to say goodbye to you."

"I'm not afraid of you", he answered boldly.

That was not strictly true but he thought of the mysterious little girl in his pocket, who had seen him cry and panic earlier that day, and who was probably admiring his bravery now. The thought pleased him so much that a faint smile appeared in the corner of his mouth. The Dark Lord, whose rage was almost palpable now, saw the smile but did not comment on it. He was clearly busy adding new ideas to the punishment he had already planned for Snape. They were walking down the corridors, where the guards had lined up in honour of their master. A glance at their bruised, tormented faces and the loathing looks they were sending towards him informed Snape how the Dark Lord must have spent some of the time while he had been chained to the prison wall.

It was early evening as they stepped out of the building. The Dark Lord raised his wand and Snape braced himself for the Side-Along Apparition. He closed his eyes, but hardly had the journey begun when he fell on solid ground again, far too soon to leave the island behind at all. He opened his eyes. The sea was in front of him, stretching towards the horizon. He was on the island coast, but the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen. A chain joined to a wrist and a left hand had just detached itself from his right wrist and fallen to the ground. He stared at the hand in utter amazement. The Dark Lord had apparently been too angry to concentrate properly on the three D's and ...

"Splinched!" he whispered, hardly daring to believe what he saw. "He _splinched_!"

He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out Vil, who had been rendered semi-conscious by terror and shock.

"Never," she panted when she was able to speak, "never again-"

"He's gone," Snape said, "we must go, too."

That was, however, easier said than done. He took a tentative step towards the sea - and he almost dropped her as they both bumped into an invisible, impenetrable obstacle, and immediately a terrible, high-pitched sound shook the whole island. He began to run along the coast as fast as he could, away from the place where the magical alarm had sounded, knowing full well that the guards from the prison were heading towards that place to catch whoever had wanted to break through the protective enchantment around the island...

When he could not run any more, he crouched by a large cliff to rest and to think. He hoped that the Felix Felicis was still working although its effect might have been exhausted by the improbable, incredible luck that a terrible and powerful wizard who could do magic most wizards could not even dream about had failed to Disapparate properly. Miraculously, no one came in their direction but it was impossible to stay behind the cliff for ever. The Dark Lord would soon come back, and even if he was more interested in finding and reattaching his own hand, his servants would doubtless search the island for him. Vil, terrified by the alarm sound, was apparently just barely conscious again, but Snape needed her help now.

"Wake up," he said, shaking her gently, "we are in trouble, you must wake up."

She opened her eyes.

"I need a place to hide and to make a plan," he said. "Do you know of any hiding places on this island?"

"I saw a forest when I came ... that way," she lifted a trembling finger to show the direction.

"A forest here? Are you sure?"

"A small one," she whispered, "there".

Snape ran in the indicated direction. Luckily, it was rather dark now, which made it more difficult for anyone to spot him. He could easily have tripped on one of the numerous stones but he did not trip. The island seemed to be rather bare of vegetation, and yet, she was right. He found a small patch of forest between the coast and the back of the prison building. In the forest, it was more difficult to walk, but the change of environment was good for Vil and she appeared to be a little better already. When he placed her on a tree branch, she let out a very faint light for him, so faint that it could not possibly be seen from further away.

"This must be the only hiding place on the island," he said. "The guards will know that, too."

"We can hide here," she said confidently. "We'll find friends here... and we can look for a fairy lily."

"A what?" he started but suddenly an old memory surfaced and now he knew what a fairy lily was, though he did not know why they had to look for it.

"A fairy lily could heal me, make me stronger," she said. "But I need your help."

Snape stared at her, puzzled. She frowned.

"Of course, if you'd rather not..."

"Let's look for a fairy lily then," he said quickly. "We may find one if we are lucky..."

But he left most of the searching to her, because he could see very little in the dim light and because his mind was full of the memory the mention of the fairy lily had evoked.

He was in his fifth year at Hogwarts, it was September and the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school-year. He did not want to go to the village, however, for two very good reasons. He had found it earlier that Hogsmeade, on these weekends, was always full of Potter and his gang. They seemed to be everywhere where he and Lily went. The second reason was that he did not have money for sweets and he did not want others to know it. Therefore he had suggested to Lily that they could explore the hills around the village and Lily had agreed. Despite the mild mist, the excursion was perfect. A Potter-free day with Lily was in itself a rare treat for him. When they got hungry, it turned out that Lily had brought packed-lunch for both of them, courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves. In the afternoon, they arrived at a spot where beautiful white flowers were scattered everywhere and Lily was literally screaming with delight seeing them. She explained that they were fairy lilies, flowers which grew only in magical places. She had read about them when she was preparing a Herbology essay. She told him cheerfully that wizards and witches of old had believed, whenever two people touched each other's hands on a moonlit night near a fairy lily, their destinies became closely tied together for ever. There must have been something strange in his eyes as he looked at her, because Lily blushed and hastily changed the subject. He, however, could not forget the fairy lilies for quite a while. He wished he could stay in that spot with Lily until moonrise, but it was, of course, out of the question. Nor could they have left the school grounds at night, even if Lily had been the rule-breaking type, which she was not. He got up nevertheless the next night and stood by a window in the dark, thinking of the fairy lilies, which were far away, as was Lily, up in Gryffindor Tower, and not even the moon was visible because the sky was cloudy that night.

They were lucky again. She found one single fairy lily and despite her weakness, she almost began dancing around it with excitement.

"You'd better hurry up", he suggested. "Take the flower ... though I don't know how you are going to make an elixir."

"Elixir?" she looked at him apparently perplexed. "Who told you I wanted to _take_ the fairy lily?"

"I thought you said you wanted to cure your illness with that flower."

"But not by killing the flower!" she protested indignantly. "Quite on the contrary, we must stay here until sunrise to guard it. This is the only fairy lily I can see here."

"Stay here until sunrise? Don't you realize I'm being hunted -"

"Don't worry about that", she said grandly. "I can hide both of us - unless you'd rather go somewhere else, of course."

He had nowhere to go.

"I can as well spend the last night of my life helping you guard your flower," he murmured, shrugging.

He knew that the effect of the luck potion would have worn off by the morning and he did not know how he could escape from the island without another stroke of luck. The night would probably be wasted if they did not even try to get away while their luck lasted but he felt quite certain that it would be wrong to leave her alone in such a dangerous place.

She tiptoed around the fairy lily and raised her arms above her head and towards the sky, like a ballet-dancer just about to start pirouetting, and her words sounded quite like a song.

"Friendly bushes, wise, old trees, listen to my request, please. Stand in circle, birch and oak, guard and help the light-born folk."

Snape had never seen anything similar. The trees of the forest slowly began to move and change their places. When they stood still again, they formed a perfect circle around the two of them, with the fairy lily in the centre of it.

"What... what was that?" he stammered.

"This is a guardian circle," she said proudly. "While we are inside it, nobody can find us. They could be right behind one of the guarding trees, yet they would not see or hear us. Nor could anyone enter the circle or, for that matter, leave it.

"We are ... trapped here?" he asked.

"We are protected here until the morning. When the trees move back to their original places, we can go."

"But this is powerful magic," he said, truly amazed. "I thought you were too weak to do difficult magic."

She looked at him, surprised.

"This is not magic that _I_ do. I simply asked the trees to help us. It's the trees that do the magic."

"I doubt they'd do that if _I_ asked them though", he said.

"Have you ever tried?" she asked knowledgeably. "Of course, it helps if you are on good terms with plants."

Suddenly she began to shake, and nearly lost her balance. The search for the fairy lily had exhausted her strength and she needed some rest now. It was quite late and they were hungry and thirsty but the Felix Felicis was on their side. Snape found some mushrooms under the trees and some juicy berries. When Vil had rested a little, it turned out that her light could be concentrated into a small flame and they were quite comfortable when they finally sat down to eat their late-night dinner in the guardian circle. This time Vil started the conversation.

"Severus," she began, "tell me what happened after we came out of the prison. How did you get rid of _him_?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I concentrated all my powers on a wandless version of the Banishing Charm - and it worked!"

She looked greatly impressed though she evidently did not understand everything he had said. He laughed.

"No, I didn't. I could not do anything to get rid of him. He Disapparated because he wanted to, but he made a mistake and left us here, accidentally. We were just ... _lucky_.... How do you know my name?"

"That's what people call you, isn't it?" Vil said. "Although the captive wizard called you by another name... _Snivellus_."

His eyes flashed.

"Don't you dare to use this word again!" he snapped angrily, but a glance at her diminutive figure made him regain his self-control. "That is not my name," he said emphatically.

There seemed to be an ironic glint in her eyes.

"I daresay it is not," she said.

He felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He did not look at her.

"Don't judge me by what you have seen today," he said hoarsely.

"Why not?" Her voice was suddenly soft but he hardly noticed.

"Facing the Dark Lord's power...," he said, as his right hand wandered along a spot on his left arm, "it is ... hard ... to be prepared for that. You have seen him yourself."

"How would you like to be judged then," she asked, "if not by what I've seen today?"

He cast a sharp look at her.

"What do you mean?"

"The witch you love..."

"Lily," he muttered. He did not like this turn of conversation at all.

"Yes. Why doesn't she love you?"

"You should ask her," he suggested, irritated now.

"I can only ask you."

It seemed she would not stop until she got an answer.

"She has little reason to love me," he answered reluctantly. "I did something that I should not have done ... _really bad stuff_."

Vil said nothing. Snape stared into the small flame.

"Are you really saying that you don't see who I am?" he said bitterly. "Don't you realize that I was ... _his_ servant?"

"You did something good today," she said.

"I didn't want to help the Dark Lord kill her. I wanted her to live."

"That's why the evil wizard wants to kill you."

"He wants to kill me because I'm a ... _traitor_."

He did not like the word, but he knew that Vil had already heard the Dark Lord call him that.

"I couldn't be her enemy," he said. "But the truth is ... that I was."

"Her enemy?"

"I belonged to those who were ready to kill her, to torture her..."

"And others," she said.

"Yes," he sighed. "Don't you think it's crazy? One day you become the enemy of what you love more than anything... and you almost ..." He left the sentence unfinished. He did not know why he was telling her any of that.

"How can it be?" she whispered.

"How...?" he repeated slowly. "Don't ask me because I don't know... I don't ... understand."

"So how would you like me to judge you now?" she asked. "Who do you want to be, Severus Snape?"

He leaned closer to her, looked at her intently, his eyes searching through her face, trying to find her eyes in the semi-darkness. It was in vain. The skill that he had learned from the Dark Lord did not work with her. She returned his stare.

"Who are _you_?" he said finally.

The serious little face was suddenly brightened by a mischievous smile.

"Two very good questions," she said. "If you can answer mine, perhaps I will also answer yours."

He shrugged.

"I'm not good at these things."

She did not mind changing the topic.

"I was just thinking," she said, "won't they - the witch and the wizard - come back for you?"

"I don't think they could," he said, shaking his head, "even if they wanted to. I think one needs a special wand. Before I came here, the Dark Lord had taken my wand to _register_ it, as he said. I don't know what he did exactly, but I think he enabled my wand to transport me to the island and back again. It is probably impossible to travel in and out without such a wand."

"They've got your wand now."

"They needed it to Disapparate but coming back with it is another matter. I don't think the Dark Lord gave my wand unlimited access to this island. It must have been just one round-trip ticket, nothing more."

They both were thinking silently for a while.

"Perhaps," she said, "I can help you."

"Help me what?" he asked.

"To escape from this island. But I need to get strong enough."

"How could you help me?" he asked incredulously. The guardian circle was amazing magic, still he did not think she could break through the Dark Lord's defences around the island.

"Perhaps I will be able to open a way for you in the morning," she explained, "a way that could lead you through the barrier. I can't explain it now ... but it would be a dangerous and difficult journey."

Snape watched her closely. Could this frail little creature really find a way out for him? He decided that he wanted to believe her.

"Staying here is dangerous, too," he said. "I can at least try."

She smiled nervously.

"You must know that the magic you might encounter there may be different from anything that you have seen so far."

"I know quite a lot about dark magic if you mean that," he said. "Besides, I have confronted the Dark Lord and I will have to face him again if I stay here. What can be more difficult than that?"

"I can't tell you ... but you may find out," she said.

She seemed to be fearful of something and her fear increased Snape's nervousness. Still, nothing could be worse than staying on the island.

"I understand," he said, "that I have little chance without a wand. But do I have a choice?"

She did not answer. She seemed now especially fragile and weak and tired. Snape noticed that the little flame that her magic had produced was getting smaller and smaller.

"How did you become ill?" he asked abruptly. "I mean was it something that the Dark Lord did? Or his servants?"

"One of his servants," she breathed, looking directly at him, her figure illuminated by the small flame. Snape thought he could see all the loneliness of the world on her face.

He glanced towards the fairy lily.

"What are you going to do with the flower?" he asked.

"I have to collect morning dew from the petals," she explained slowly. "The morning dew taken from a fairy lily can give me back some of my strength and magical power."

"Dew?" He was surprised. "I thought you were going to use the flower."

"I need dew from the flower," she repeated. "How else would I use it?"

"Never mind," he sighed. "I need some sleep."

The forest ground was cold and hard, still much better than the floor of the prison had been. He lay down and fell asleep at once. Vil found a relatively comfortable place, yet she could not sleep. She heard the Dark Lord's servants combing the forest for Snape but that was not what kept her awake. She was cold. She looked up at the high branches above, though she knew that there was no way she could ask the trees to do another favour before they finished guarding them. Finally she got up and slowly walked towards the sleeping wizard. For a moment she hesitated, then with a sudden decision she carefully climbed into Snape's open palm, pulled the long sleeve of his robes like a blanket over her body and soon was sleeping sound. He stirred a little but was too exhausted to wake up. The moon cast a silver-white light on the guardian circle.


	4. The Key

Disclaimer: The characters and the HP world belong to JK Rowling.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 4**

_The Key_

"I could use a butterbeer," he muttered to himself, when he woke up at dawn, dirty and chilled to the bone. Vil was already up and busy with the flower. She needed something in which she could collect the dew from the fairy lily's petals so Snape gave her the empty potion bottle of the Felix Felicis. She managed to extract a surprisingly large amount of dew, and she asked Snape to pour a few drops on her, not more than two or three. Due to his experience with potion making, Snape could handle even the smallest amount of liquid with a sure hand. He poured exactly three drops on her. The healing effect of the dew was undeniable: Soon she looked healthier and stronger. Snape made a mental note of what he had seen. If he survived the adventure, he would research the effects of fairy lily dew on humans, especially as a possible potion ingredient. Vil, who was too small to carry the potion bottle herself, asked him to keep the rest of the dew for her.

For breakfast, they had to make do with some berries, which could be enough for Vil, but left Snape as hungry as he had been. There were no more mushrooms, which he interpreted as a clear sign that he had better not count on the Felix Felicis any more. Nor did they have much time to spend on having breakfast, since the trees had moved back to their places at sunrise and the guards might continue the search during the day. Vil, however, wanted to test her renewed magical skills. Unfortunately, she could not conjure food out of thin air any more than wizards could; instead, she put her hand on Snape's forehead and kept it there for a while. At her touch, a pleasant, warm feeling began in Snape's head and streamed down all over his body. He was not cold any more.

"Very well," she said. "Now I can see to the more difficult job. At least," she added with some hesitation, "if you still want to try."

"I do," he replied. "I'd rather not stay here."

Vil was apparently looking for a suitable spot on the ground when Snape noticed something.

"You have grown," he said, astonished.

She turned and looked up at him, beaming.

"You are almost twice the size you were," he continued.

"I really appreciate the compliment," she said with a smile, "but I'm trying to do very difficult magic at the moment and I must concentrate."

Snape did not say more but waited in silence. Vil concentrated and began to murmur something that he did not understand. Finally she stamped her foot three times on the ground. The ground cracked and a hole appeared in front of them. Snape leaned over it.

"This is the entrance to the tunnel," she explained, "which leads us to the other side of the barrier."

His eyes could not make out any tunnels, but the opening was undoubtedly there.

"Are you coming with me?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," she nodded. "This is the only way out for me as well."

Snape saw with some alarm that she looked paler and smaller again. She had obviously shrunk. He sat her on his shoulder, told her to hold on tightly, and climbed into the tunnel. As soon as he reached the bottom, he heard a noise. He looked up and saw that the opening had closed again. It made him feel imprisoned.

"Well, at least you can be sure that none of _them_ will follow you here," said Vil

"Right," he answered with determination. "I want to go ahead, not back, anyway."

The tunnel would have been completely dark and cold, if it had not been for her beam of light, which revealed a long way to go ahead. It was a suspiciously quiet place. There seemed to be neither danger, nor magic anywhere as he walked, and he was just about to share this observation with Vil, when he noticed that they were approaching a dead end. Getting nearer, he saw that the tunnel was closed down by a large door. He looked round but the door was clearly the only way to go on. Cautiously, he tried the door handle, turned it, and slowly opened the door. The dark tunnel seemed to continue on the other side - at least until he closed the door.

Instantly, a strong light filled his surroundings and he froze at the sight in front of him. Hundreds of candles lightened a large, windowless room, full of wizards and witches. It did not take him long to recognize the place. He appeared to be in a large Ministry courtroom, which he had often seen in the newspapers, and which he most certainly did not want to see in reality. Nearest to him, he saw the audience, murmuring softly and looking expectantly towards the centre of the room, where no doubt the members of the council were sitting, forming a semi-circle around a large, empty chair. Snape had seen similar chairs in the papers often enough to know what it was and he wondered with some apprehension who was going to be seated there this time. The most prominent seat in the semi-circle, opposite the empty chair and exactly opposite Snape, was occupied by a black-haired man bending over a pile of parchments placed in front of him on a desk.

Nobody in the room paid any attention to Snape. He could be a newly arrived spectator.

"It is not ... real, is it?" he whispered to Vil nervously.

"Not in the usual sense of the word," she explained, "but, for the moment, it is real enough for us."

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"Go on," she answered encouragingly.

He looked round once more and now he noticed the other door in the room. It was opposite the one through which he had entered, behind the back of the black-haired man. Behind that door was probably the way to go on.

"Suppose," he said to her, "I want to open that door... What do you think will happen?"

She did not respond. Snape was thinking. Just going there and opening the door would be too easy. Whatever magic was at work in the tunnel, the room and all those people were not there for nothing. He tried to get a better view of the door and he saw that it was locked with a large padlock, oddly Muggle-type, except perhaps for its size.

"It's locked," he said. "I must open the padlock."

"Sounds logical enough," she said.

"I haven't got a wand," he continued, ignoring her mild sarcasm.

"So?" she asked.

He traced a finger in front of his mouth.

"So I must find a key," he concluded. "What do you think?"

"I think," she replied, "if you need a key to go on, then the key must be in this room somewhere."

He looked round for the third time. It was not probable that the key would just be lying somewhere waiting for him to pick it up. What was he supposed to do? To steal the key? To take it by force from whoever was keeping it? To duel for it, perhaps? He knew he could not duel without a weapon and a Muggle-style fistfight was not his strong point, especially when the opponent did have a wand. Anyway, how would he find the key in the first place?

His eyes were searching the room, first sweeping past the audience, then observing the council members - where should he start? His gaze reached the man in the middle, who had just finished studying the parchments and was slowly raising his head. Their eyes met across the room and Snape almost jolted backwards. His lips whitened and it seemed his legs would soon fail to support him, as the features of the man sitting by the desk became contorted with a twisted, malicious smile. He knew now who was keeping the key. He also knew that he was facing magic he had never met, heard or read about before.

The man made a hardly perceptible nod towards him and raised his hand in a gesture of invitation. Snape saw that he was holding a wand.

"How is it possible?" he murmured to Vil.

"Anything is possible here," she said softly.

"He's got a wand," he said.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down as much as he could. He needed a cool head now and he could not give way to fears and weakness, otherwise he would stay standing at the entrance forever. A few moments later he opened his eyes. The audience had become a little restless. It was probably time for the hearing to start. The black-haired man, however, was leaning backwards in his seat in a leisurely way, still watching him, evidently amused.

"Fine," he said under his breath, clenching his fist. "Don't worry, I'm coming."

He began to walk across the room towards the man. Vil, who was still sitting on his shoulder, moved closer to his head and whispered into his ear.

"There is a rule that you must know," she said. "Only one of you can go through that door. Remember that."

"What will happen to the other one?" he asked.

"The other one," her voice trembled a little, "will stay here for ever."

"Well," he said, frowning, "he could stand up right now and reach the door before me. If he's got the key..."

The man, however, did not seem to be in a hurry to leave the room. Now his eyes were fixed upon the empty chair, apparently in anticipation of what was going to happen, but his attention was turned to Snape once again as soon as he reached the desk. Snape stared silently at him, observing his features in details. The heavily lined pale face was framed by long black hair and dominated by cold black eyes and a large, hooked nose. His thin mouth was still curled into an unpleasant smile. He was wearing black robes, with a hood hanging on his back. He was about forty years old, twice Snape's own age.

With another gesture, the man offered him a seat on his right. He accepted without a word.

"Don't worry about the formalities, Severus," said the man sardonically. "I know your name, of course. As for me," he added after a moment of pretentious silence, "I am known by everyone as the Prince."

His voice was smooth, calm and cold. He glanced at Vil, and his smile became decidedly contemptuous for a while. The experience was rather like looking into an enchanted mirror which reflected images in a twisted, distorted way. Snape's "reflection" was certainly distorted by age and by something else that he could not name. The Prince began to rap lazily on his desk with his wand.

"You have arrived just on time. I'm sure you will enjoy the show."

Snape only half-listened to him because he had jus noticed a large key on the desk, upon which the Prince's left hand was resting casually. He was pondering the possibility of snatching the key without further ceremony. How long would it take to open the padlock and the door? The Prince had a wand and the guards would probably act on his orders. He waited. Suddenly there was movement in the room and he looked up to see what was happening. He felt a sudden chill spreading all over his body as two hooded creatures glided in, leading a blindfolded prisoner into the room and pushing him into the empty chair in front of the two Snapes. The chair chained the prisoner at once. Snape could feel Vil's hand on his temple and the chill began to dissolve. The Dementors retreated into the back of the room, causing quite a commotion, as some members of the audience hastened to find new seats far away from them.

Snape looked at the prisoner and he could almost feel the chill return. The blindfold covered a part of the prisoner's face, but there was no way he could be mistaken about the windswept black hair, the outlines of his face, his figure and his posture. James Potter did not look a day older than he had been at his graduation from Hogwarts. It was strange, considering the forty-year-old Prince in the council, but Vil had told him that anything was possible in the tunnel. The Prince turned to him again.

"Here is the enemy," he said with apparent pride and satisfaction, "and this is the day I have been waiting for."

Snape's eyes flicked between the prisoner and his sneering older self.

"The hearing will be short and easy. The evidence against him is overwhelming. But I thought we could start with some fun. Have you got any suggestions?"

"Suggestions?" He stared blankly into those malicious eyes. The Prince shrugged.

"I thought I'd offer you a chance. Personally, I think a few simple hexes would do for a start and then ..." the cold eyes glinted with slightly mad delight "... a full Levicorpus. There are enough spectators, don't you think so?"

There were hundreds of spectators.

"After the hearing," the Prince finished, throwing a loathing glance in the direction of the prisoner, "there will be time for more serious things."

Snape did not look at the prisoner. He was watching his twenty years older self overcome by hatred, as appalling lines of cruelty appeared on his face. He did not like what he saw. He was revolted by the idea that he had to share his identity with this monster.

"This is insane," he said. "I don't want you to do this."

The older man let out a mirthless laughter.

"You have no idea, young man, how much I have worked for this! Give me a reason ... just one good reason why I should not do it. "

"Because it is ... wrong," he said. "Torture hurts. I know."

The contemptuous curl in the corner of the Prince's mouth made it clear that the argument was a rather weak one. Of course, torture hurt. That was the point.

He tried again.

"It is not good for you either. It makes you horrible." He paused. "You are not a happy man."

The Prince's face became rigid and grim.

"No," he admitted. "I'm not. Neither are you, of course. But there are still small pleasures in life for me." With his head, he indicated the prisoner.

The people in the room were becoming impatient now and the Prince rapped on the desk with his wand again. The audience froze in silence.

"Wait," he said hastily. "There is another reason... Lily. You are hurting her, too."

The Prince regarded him with unfathomable eyes.

"I don't know Lily," he answered coldly. "I have no idea who you are talking about. But this is beside the point anyway. I suppose certain memories are at least as vivid in your mind as in mine. After all, you are closer to certain ..._experiences_. Today is the day of revenge... the day of satisfaction, the day of justice."

The last few words sounded rather like the hissing of a snake. He raised his wand but Snape grabbed it and, although he could not take it away from the older man's grip, he pushed hand and wand alike towards the desk, which was immediately hit by the spell. There was an explosion-like sound and a large burned hole appeared on the wooden surface. They both jumped to their feet. The next moment the wand was directed at Snape.

The guards did not move without getting orders, and the audience seemed to be interested in the changed spectacle.

"Idiot!" spat the Prince. "Why did you do that?"

He was eyeing the wand, trying to imagine what it would be like getting cursed by himself.

"I told you I did not want you to torture him."

The wand in the Prince's hand made a dangerous movement but nothing else happened. Enraged, its owner was merely glaring at the youngster who had spoiled the fun for him. The youngster, however, was beginning to understand the reason why no curses were coming. _Hurting me, you would hurt yourself, too, you coward_, he thought with a sense of triumph.

"In fact, I don't want you to torture anyone," he continued, "and I don't want you to forget Lily."

"You are in no position to lecture me, young man!" growled the other one. "You hate him, too, I know! _You see you don't even deny it!_ Tell me who wanted revenge in the first place? Who had been indulging in dreams and fantasies about vengeance long before I did?"

He leaned close to him, and Snape took a step backwards.

"I never meant it this way," he said quickly.

He was on the defensive now, and his opponent seemed to be getting the better of him. He could not deny that he had been fantasizing about revenge and about Potter's humiliation, but his fantasies usually featured one-to-one duels between himself and Potter, ending, of course, with his own complete victory. Other fantasies included some splendid, grand or heroic deed on his part that had invariably made even his enemies respect him and his powers, and there was always Lily, who at last discovered how much worthier Snape was of her love than Potter or anyone else.

"You stupid kid," sneered the Prince condescendingly. "Fantasies are fantasies but _I_ can show you how revenge works in reality."

He knew that his older self was right and he felt ashamed of his teenage fantasies, which he had almost forgotten in the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers. Most Death Eaters had personal aspirations, and their master rewarded their services with small favours and sometimes with great favours, but only those who had already moved up the organization ladder high enough could think about realizing really ambitious wishes. Even then, the Dark Lord's will was first and foremost. Snape had to admit that the manner of revenge that the Prince was showing him was painfully more realistic for a Death Eater than anything he had been fantasizing about. Still, he was sure that he did not want revenge at the price the Prince was paying for it.

"Don't throw away the possibility," hissed the older man. "Remember what happened and enjoy the revenge for everything Potter did to you, for everything that he had and you did not have and also for ... for... for..."

Suddenly he seemed to be choking, his face distorted with pain.

"For Lily," said Snape quietly.

The older man groaned, his breathing still uneven. Swiftly, Snape grabbed the wand and snatched it out of the Prince's hands, mercilessly taking advantage of his moment of weakness. Now _he_ was holding the wand, directing it at his opponent.

"Be careful," said the Prince with forced calmness. "You can't do anything against me."

Snape regarded him with the most impertinent smile that he could produce.

"Don't be so sure of that," he answered.

"The spell that hits me will hit you, too."

"So what?" he whispered very slowly, enjoying the startled expression on his own older face. "Perhaps ... you don't know ... that the Dark Lord has recently tortured me ... quite thoroughly. Yet ... I'm here ... and I'm ready to endure a little more pain ... if I can teach you a lesson."

"Fine," the Prince retorted, quivering slightly with anger. "Why don't you torture _me_ then instead of torturing _him_? You fool!"

Snape remained composed.

"Let him go free", he said firmly. "Release him ... now!"

He waved the wand around.

"I'm not joking," he continued. "You must know it ... you know me, don't you? You know that I can go far ... quite far ... if I really want something."

"Don't be stupid. I can't do that," growled the Prince.

"Oh, yes, you can. I'm not stupid and I can tell that you are the boss here."

"It is contrary to the ... custom."

"Who cares?"

The Prince sighed.

"Have your way then," he said with a malicious glint in his eyes. He turned to the room at large, where the audience and the council became noisier and more active at once. "I have compelling evidence in my hands," he announced, lifting the parchments," proving that the accused is not guilty. The prisoner ... is free!"

The momentary baffled silence was followed by general uproar. What had just happened was indeed unheard of.

"Silence!" he bellowed. "The hearing is over! Everyone must leave the courtroom!"

The audience as well as the rest of the council and the guards obediently began to move towards the door through which Snape had entered. Snape's attention, however, was completely caught by the freshly released prisoner. The chains and the blindfold had fallen off him and he stood up, looking towards the two Snapes with obvious amazement and disbelief. He was indeed Potter - and yet, he was not. He had Potter's features, his nose, his mouth, his chin - but instead of Potter's hazel eyes, he had green, almond-shaped ones. Lily's eyes... Snape gasped. The boy turned and followed the other people in the direction of the door. All of a sudden, a woman's cry filled the room.

"Harry...!"

The boy stopped, listened, and then hastened his steps towards the exit. Nobody else seemed to heed the cry. Snape knew whose voice he had heard and was desperately trying to spot Lily in the still crowded room. She was nowhere. His hands were clutching the edge of the desk. He had seen Lily's eyes in Potter's face and he had heard Lily's voice in a room where she was not present. What did that mean? He was shaking with shock.

"Severus, look! There!" screamed another voice directly into his ear.

He wheeled round. The Prince was edging towards the back door with the key in his hand.

"Impedimenta!"

The Prince stumbled. Cursing, he turned to see his twenty-year-old self glowering at him angrily. With weary steps, the Prince walked back to the desk.

"I have almost forgotten how quick your reactions could be."

Side by side, they watched the last of the crowd, the Lily-eyed Potter among them, leave the courtroom.

"You can still send a curse after him," suggested the Prince.

He shook his head.

"I'm not going to. Did you see his eyes?"

He looked at his older self and saw with some surprise that the Prince's face twitched ominously as though with pain.

"I don't care about his eyes!" he snapped. "I don't give a damn about anyone's eyes! You have got what you wanted, and now you must suffer the consequences. I'm leaving you. Goodbye, little boy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Let me go!" the Prince spat furiously. "You can't hold me up forever, so why don't you just give it up now?"

"Accio key!" he shouted.

Nothing happened.

"That would be a bit too easy," sneered the Prince. "This key cannot be summoned and I'm not giving it to you. It is mine. I have paid for it."

He was holding the wand firmly in his grip, trying to think of a suitable spell. Should he carry out his threat and attack his other self, making both of them suffer? Would that make the Prince give up the key? They were glaring at one another, each pondering his next move. Suddenly he knew the word that he needed, and it was not even a spell...

"Lily," he said quietly but clearly.

He saw the face of his older self twitch again and he saw the same shock in the Prince's eyes that he had felt catching a glimpse of the boy's eyes...

"Lily," he repeated a little louder this time.

The Prince groaned with pain.

"No," he pleaded throatily, "don't do that."

"Lily," he said again, louder than before. "Lily, Lily, Lily..."

The Prince's hands were looking for support. He found his chair and sank into it.

"Stop," he croaked. "I don't want these memories ... They are hurting me .... I don't want ... to ... remember."

He buried his face into his hands.

"Give me the key," Snape said.

The other one did not move.

"Give me the key," he repeated.

The Prince slowly looked up at him.

"Don't you think that it is unfair?" he asked, still panting with pain. "You have taken away my wand, you have taken away my revenge, the fruit of my efforts, and now ... you want the key, too. What do I get in return?"

Snape was considering the question. What compensation can one give to a part of his own self who - as Snape was quite certain now - should not even exist?

"Give me the key ..." he replied, "... and I will make sure that you will never get here ... that you will never do any of this." He indicated the courtroom with his hands.

"It is too late for you, boy," snarled the Prince.

He seemed to be attacking, and Snape tried to protect the wand, but the Prince merely grabbed hold of his left arm and roughly pulled up his sleeve.

"Can you see that?" he hissed, forcing Snape to look at the Dark Mark.

"This is your ticket to Azkaban now that the Dark Lord is not protecting you any more. Unless you get killed by the Death Eaters, you will end up in this courtroom, only in a different chair." He pointed at the chair with the chains. "There is no reason for you to want this key. You'd better stay here and let _me_ go on."

Snape was staring at the Dark Mark. Not even since the Dark Lord's splinching, had he thought his life and freedom certain enough to start making plans for a possible future. What would happen if he managed to escape from the island? What would he do, where would he go? He did not know. The Prince was right again. He had good reason to fear the aurors and Azkaban as well as the Dark Lord.

"What about you?" he asked. "I have already turned away from the Dark Lord, and he wants to kill me. You can't go back to him now. He does not give second chances... It is too late for you to take my place now."

The Prince sneered.

"Yes, I know about the mess you have got yourself into. You have a talent for that. You have come here just to spoil everything for me. But I won't have it, little boy ... I won't have it."

Snape needed all his willpower to remain calm.

"How would you escape the Dark Lord's wrath and how would _you_avoid Azkaban without his protection?" he demanded.

The Prince stepped quite close to him now, a pair of black eyes boring into a pair of black eyes.

"I am older than you, and I have not wasted my time," he whispered. "With _my_ knowledge and _my_ powers, I have little to fear. _I_will be able to deal with the aurors and _I_ will be able to avoid the Dark Lord if I go on. I will watch them fight... waiting for my time to come ... and it will come... It will come."

The Prince laughed disdainfully.

"So if you care about your name at all ... let me go. Thanks to me, you have one last choice to make. Severus Snape can be a poor run-away Death Eater kid killed by the Dark Lord - or a pathetic little criminal who got cold feet and surrendered to the aurors only to be locked up in Azkaban! But Severus Snape, the Prince, can also be a powerful dark wizard, whose name will be feared and respected ... and preserved in wizarding history for ever!"

He was helpless, hesitating... Was it the truth? Was there no other way for him? Would he escape the Dark Lord only to be arrested by the aurors? Or would he spend the rest of his life on the run? How long could that last? Was it worth it after all? Still, the alternative that his older self was offering ... it could have been attractive to him before, but now... now it sounded like another form of death to him.

He was suddenly aware of a strange pain near his head. He immediately realized that it was Vil, shifting, perhaps trembling, on his shoulder, holding so tightly onto his hair and his neck that it hurt. Vil... She had tried to help him ... What would happen to her if the Prince won? Snape remembered the contemptuous look that the Prince had cast at her. Would he take her out of the tunnel, to freedom, to life? Would she be safe in the Prince's hands? She had once been hurt, perhaps tortured by a servant of the Dark Lord. Would it happen again? Would _he_ let it happen?

The Prince was glaring at him, the anticipation of triumph already detectable on his face. He met his gaze defiantly. If only for Vil, it was still worth going on.

"I don't care," he said stubbornly. "I want the key. Whatever fate awaits me out there, at least I will not forget Lily."

"Idiot boy!" hissed the other one, displaying the already familiar twitches of pain. "The Dementors will do to you just that. They will take away all your happy memories."

"Then," he answered "I will keep the unhappy ones and I will still remember her."

The Prince laughed but it sounded rather artificial.

"What do you want to remember her for?"

"I am the night and she is the day," he said. "Nothing would be worth remembering if I forgot my memories of her." After a pause, he added, "If I had forgotten her, she would probably be dead by now."

The Prince turned even paler than before and stared at him without a word, for a long time. Finally, he let out a groan.

"You will get the key, you poor wretch," he snapped. "But I want my wand back!"

Snape hesitated for a moment then hurried towards the door. He stood there, directing the wand at the Prince until he followed him.

"No tricks," Snape warned the Prince. "You will let me go through this door. Swear it!"

"Very well," the Prince replied with a dark, twisted smile. "You are quite smart after all. I will not stop you if you give me that wand. You have won. You will see whether you get to regret it or not."

The Prince kept his promise. As soon as the key was in the padlock, the door opened and Snape stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him and disappeared immediately. With Vil still clutching his hair, he was standing in the dark tunnel again.

He leaned against the wall. He could feel nothing but fatigue and a desire to rest.

"Well done, Severus," trilled a silvery voice close to his ear.

He moaned.

"What is this tunnel? Tell me ... did I ... did I see the future?"

"Only a possibility," she answered. "One of many."

He picked her up from his shoulder and held her in his palm in front of his face.

"Did you know?" he asked accusingly. "Did _you_ make it happen? Did _you_ make it so difficult?"

"I thought you would understand it yourself," she said earnestly. "I had the power to open the tunnel for you, but I can't influence what you find inside. Everything that is here ... is your own creation."

He heard the words echoing in the tunnel. _Your own creation_....

"Then," he said ruefully, "I wish I had made it easier for myself."

"Yes," she agreed. "You could have made it much easier for yourself."


	5. Hogwarts

Disclaimer: The characters and the HP world belong to J.K. Rowling.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 5**

_Hogwarts_

Lily woke up after midnight. She had slept only a few hours and now she was neither more refreshed, nor less anxious than the evening before. She was tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, unable to escape from the memories of the day before, unable to think calmly.

They had already been to Hogwarts and informed Dumbledore about the news concerning the Longbottoms. They had also discussed the prison island. If they could break the protective spells around the island, Order members would be able to storm the prison building and free the prisoners. Dumbledore had asked them to give him the wand that had taken them through the barrier so he could examine it.

Unfortunately, none of that provided any solution to Severus's plight. Lily was sure that Severus, after what he had done, would not survive long enough to wait for the results of a meticulous examination of his wand or for a group of Order members to force the prison building open. Dumbledore had seemed to agree, but not even he could think of an immediate plan to save Severus before Voldemort took his revenge on him. She had to pin all her hope on the Felix Felicis now, but she was restless and desperate to be able to do something.

Suddenly she could feel James's hand touching her face, caressing her cheeks gently.

"I can't sleep," she said. "James ... I think I will talk to Dumbledore again."

"He can't do anything."

"Perhaps he has thought of something since yesterday."

"Don't expect miracles. There is only so much he can do."

"But still ..."

"Snape was a Death Eater..."

"He saved our lives, risking his own!"

"I mean he was a Death Eater and he knew what he was doing when he saved us."

"So you don't think we should care if he dies!"

"I did not say that. But I don't want you to ... to be disappointed and ... to get depressed about it too much. There is a war going on."

"Perhaps we should not have left him there."

James sighed.

"We would all have died ... Think of Harry ... and the Order.... Lily, don't you see? Now that we have been on the island and escaped, we have a better chance to do something for the rest of the prisoners there. For all of them, not only for one ... and Snape did everything because he wanted you to _live_, not to ... die with him."

"I just can't help thinking that we would not have left ... Sirius there."

James growled.

"Sirius is my friend. He has never been a D-"

"Severus is not a Death Eater any more!" Lily said fiercely. She paused and added with a blush invisible in the darkness. "He is my ... best friend."

There was a very long silence. James spoke first.

"I still don't see what we could do for him."

"Anything would be better than doing nothing," she said. "I trusted Dumbledore so much."

Another silence ensued.

"You know," said James finally, taking her hand into his, "it was pretty ... sickening to impersonate Snape-"

"Don't you start that again!" she snapped.

"You misunderstand. I mean I knew all the time who I was and what I thought of him, still I could not help being ... aware of ... of what it was like to be Snape. I reckon it was a side-effect of the potion, but-"

"I doubt that," she said. "Polyjuice Potion makes you look like another person but it does not make you think or feel like another person."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am."

"All the same ... I thought I knew how Snape could feel about ... well, various things."

He waited for Lily to say something, but she did not respond so he continued.

"It was spooky... you know ... being in his shoes. I mean almost. Does that make sense?"

"No," said Lily. "Unless you want to say that you pity him."

* * * * *

It was very early morning when Lily first knocked and afterwards thumped on the door of Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts. At last, she had to accept the fact that the Headmaster was not there. She sent her Patronus to him, not caring that Dumbledore could still be asleep in bed - Dumbledore would forgive her for the intrusion. The reply came back within minutes.

"I'll be at Hogwarts in about two hours," announced the silver Phoenix.

Of course ... Dumbledore had mentioned it the day before that he would visit the Longbottoms first thing in the morning. Lily was close to crying. It had been quite useless for her to come here. If Severus was still alive but not fully saved by the Felix Felicis, he would soon die anyway and his death would not be an easy one.

"Miss Evans!" boomed a voice just behind her back, startling her. "Or it is Mrs Potter now, isn't it? Well, well, we don't recognize our once favourite teacher any more, do we?"

Lily turned, her eyes narrowed. Professor Slughorn had never been her favourite teacher, although a lot of students had shared the opinion that Lily was Slughorn's favourite student.

"Good morning, Professor," she said wearily. "I did not hear your footsteps."

"Coming to see Dumbledore, as well?" whooped the professor jovially. "I want to talk to him myself and I thought I'd pay him a surprise visit as soon as he got up-"

"He is not here," she said with a desperate glance at the door. "He will be back in two hours."

For a second, Slughorn looked utterly disappointed.

"So I got up early for nothing...what a shame!"

But soon his face brightened again.

"Oh, well, otherwise I would not have seen you, Miss ... I mean Mrs Potter! Would you do me the honour of joining me for breakfast in the Great Hall while you are waiting for Dumbledore to come back? All the colleagues will be delighted to see you!"

"No, thanks, I'd rather not," she said quickly. She was in no mood to chat and she doubted that the sight of the Great Hall would do any good to her at the moment.

It was obvious from his baffled expression that Professor Slughorn had not expected a refusal.

"Come on, my dear," he insisted, "you can't wait two hours in this corridor! All right, forget the Great Hall, but why don't you come to my office instead? We can have a cup of tea, and I've got a large box of top quality crystallized pineapples. I would love to hear how you are doing these days!"

Lily was about to refuse the second invitation when a thought occurred to her. Slughorn was the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and potions meant Severus and the Felix Felicis to her now... Perhaps ... perhaps Slughorn could answer the question that was tormenting her.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, forcing herself to smile.

The tea and the crystallized pineapples were accompanied by buttered scones, and a beaming Slughorn opened a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's mead.

"This is my idea of life!" Waving his hand happily, he indicated the table in front of him. "Good food with good drinks in good company!" He laughed heartily as he was pouring out the mead.

"You know I look forward to retiring and enjoying a shamelessly idle life while I still can. I confess I've grown tired of teaching, marking essays and brewing potions all the time. I'm an old man, ready for a pleasant change. That is why I would like to talk to Dumbledore. He does not want to listen to me, he says he can't find another suitable Potions Master and Head of Slytherin these days. I just don't see him trying very hard..." He raised his goblet. "But let's talk about you, Mrs Potter, your life must be more interesting than mine."

He seemed to be genuinely interested in Lily. He inquired after Harry, whose birth he had heard about. He also wanted to know whether Lily was planning to find a job in the future. Her replies, however, were so half-hearted that even Slughorn was bound to notice it in the end.

"You are not in a good mood today," he said disapprovingly. "Dumbledore's absence can't have put you out so much. Are you sure that you are well?"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something," said Lily suddenly.

Slughorn flinched at first, but then an encouraging smile appeared on his face.

"I'm all ears, my dear," he said.

She took a deep breath.

"Professor, I wonder exactly how much luck twelve hour's worth of Felix Felicis can bring a person when the general circumstances are rather hopeless. Can it, for example ... can it save someone from immediate mortal danger?"

Slughorn's expression became grim.

"Well, I'm not sure I can answer a question so vaguely put. Experts have been trying to determine the rules governing the effect of Felix Felicis, but most of what they have been able to come up with concerns the connection between the amount of the potion taken and the time while the effect lasts. As for measuring luck ... well, that appears to be a very difficult question depending on a number of factors, and research has resulted in contradictory theories as yet ... If I knew the exact details, perhaps I could ... but I suppose your interest is purely academic ... hypothetical ... Merlin's beard, Lily!"

Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and she took out a handkerchief to wipe them off.

"I hope it is ... not about someone in your family?" Slughorn asked, making a movement as though he wanted to stroke her head. "Not your husband or ... or your child?"

"No," she said, "I'm sorry, Professor. I should not have ... It is about a ... friend of mine. You know him. Severus ..."

"Snape?" Shock, doubt, suspicion and disquiet seemed to be chasing one another rapidly on Slughorn's face.

"He is ..." Lily hesitated, uncertain about how much she should say. Slughorn was the Head of Voldemort's House; still, as a long-standing Hogwarts teacher, he was supposed to be trustworthy.

"Severus is in Vol-"

Slughorn's face whitened.

"... You-Know-Who's prison. He is in mortal danger if not dead already."

"Are you positive about that?" asked Slughorn sharply.

Lily nodded. "Except ... that he had a small bottle of Felix Felicis with him. Provided that he drank it, could he be lucky enough to escape?"

She was a little worried that Slughorn would ask questions, but he did not seem to want to know any more about the circumstances.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "the potion cannot work miracles. There is nothing it can do that could not happen without it as well. The luck potion greatly increases the chances of the best _possible_ outcome. If there are any realistic chances that he might survive, escape or defend himself against You-Know-Who, the potion may be of great help. If there are no such chances, he will still be luckier with the potion than without it, but what luck means in this case is hard to tell."

It did not sound very encouraging. Lily sighed.

"If only I knew ... perhaps he needs just a little more help, but nobody knows about it."

Lily did not look at Slughorn. If she had, she would have seen that the old wizard was probably arguing with himself silently. He was wringing his hands, shaking his head, massaging his temple. At last he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Well, if you want information about him ... to see if he is dead or alive ... perhaps there is a way..."

"Yes?" Lily said eagerly.

Slughorn opened one of the numerous cabinets in the office, and took out a vial containing a liquid that resembled clear water.

Lily stared at it.

"Have you ever wondered" said Slughorn, "what the Draught of Living Death can be used for?"

"It makes the drinker fall into a very deep sleep," she answered.

"Correct," agreed Slughorn, "however, there is more to this potion than just that. For example, if you stir it with a phoenix feather three times counter-clockwise before drinking it, the deep sleep will change into a special ... well, journey for you."

"What journey?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It is hard to explain," he said. "Perhaps the simplest way to put is that you see a _true dream_."

"What is a true dream?" asked Lily.

"In a true dream, you see something that is happening in reality - simultaneously with you seeing it. It is possible - under certain circumstances - to direct your dream towards a person, a place or an object that you want to see. You need to be able to concentrate on your target while you are sleeping, and you need a very strong will to control your dream. It is difficult - but not impossible."

"So I could see what's happening to Severus?"

"If you are successful, yes. If you are not, you may see any other true dream. It may be what your sister is doing at the moment or something that's happening in the depth of a rain forest ... anything."

"If I do get to Severus, can I help him, can I communicate with him?"

"Oh, my dear, you want too much for a beginner! It can be done, but it is even more difficult, and, of course, the possibilities are limited. You can't go to him physically, for example. There are wizards in the world practised in such journeys and communications, but I'm not one of them, and I can give you only general advice."

"I want to try it!" Lily was quite excited now.

"I must warn you that there are dangers. Nobody can wake you up until the effect of the potion wears off, nor can you have any control over your body during this time, therefore you have to make sure that you will be absolutely safe. Also, since communication with the dream participants is, in effect, possible, even though difficult to control, it works both ways, which means you can also be affected - your soul at least - by whatever you see and whoever you meet in your true dream. Can you imagine the risks of that?"

"So I need to make the Draught of Living Death, and ..." She stopped. "... I need a phoenix feather."_Dumbledore,_ she thought, but Slughorn opened a drawer of his desk.

"Here you are," he said with a sly smile, handing her both the vial and a long, golden feather. "Saved it from the ashes just the other day. The potion is enough for three hours of dream."

"Thank you ... thank you very much," Lily stammered with astonishment. "How much do I owe you?"

"Well, the phoenix feather is priceless, and I can make another potion any time" said Slughorn with a conspiratorial wink, "so I'd better not charge anything. I'm only asking you to take care of yourself."

Lily went home thinking there could be some truth in the rumours that she had been Slughorn's favourite student, after all.

* * * * *

Snape had walked a long way but he could see nothing to indicate that he was approaching the end of the tunnel. He was again carrying Vil on his shoulder. Both of them were silent, Snape deep in thought. He sometimes imagined she was asleep, although her beam of light kept illuminating his way, which led him through several curves and bends and even some loops. At last he stopped - but what he saw before him was not the end of the tunnel, only a door, another door, quite like the first one.

He spent some time watching the door, examining the small cracks on its surface, the door handle, the threshold. He tried to guess what he would find on the other side, seriously hoping that the Prince had been left behind forever. An unpleasant feeling caused him to suddenly press his hand against his stomach.

"What's the matter?" asked Vil.

"Nothing," he replied with pretended indifference. "I am merely wondering whether an empty stomach is a necessary prerequisite for the quest or just a coincidence in this case. Not that it matters much, I suppose."

Vil gave a chuckle in response.

"Are you ready to enter?" she asked almost light-heartedly.

He frowned.

"Let's assume that I am."

He turned the door handle and entered. For a moment, it seemed he had got out of the tunnel after all. It was night, and he was standing in an open landscape, water glittering in front of him, a large, white object by its side, trees in the distance, star-lit sky above. Soon, however, he realized that it could only be the magic of the tunnel again. The air did not feel like fresh, open air. It was like being in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, where the enchanted ceiling perfectly imitated the sky, day and night, in sunshine and in storm alike, yet everybody always knew that they were in fact inside, not outside.

Hogwarts ... It was odd that he had just thought of the school ... He took some time examining his surroundings better and his heart began to thump more rapidly. The water in front of him was a lake with trees on its shore; more trees in the distance formed the outlines of a large, dark forest; and he spun round to see a castle a little further away, its many windows, turrets and towers recognizable in the star-light. He knew this lake, this forest, this castle... the only thing that did not fit was the white, man-made object by the lake. Whatever it was, it had not been there the last time he had seen these grounds. Everything else was completely familiar, and he was standing there astounded, overpowered by bewildering, inexplicable but altogether enjoyable feelings, as he was drinking in the view around him.

A minute of sheer bliss passed thus before these joyful emotions were chased away by a pang of guilt. What a moron he was... What would he be doing at Hogwarts? How would he be received there, in Dumbledore's stronghold, avoided by all known Death Eaters, avoided by the Dark Lord himself? He still had the Dark Mark on his forearm; and besides ... he had lied to Dumbledore, he had tried to hoodwink him, to spy on him, he had taken the Prophecy to the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore knew it. For all what Hogwarts had meant to him once, the refuge from a miserable home, the entrance to the world of magic at last, the source of his hopes for an imagined future - what could _he_ mean to Hogwarts now? Just one more Slytherin turned Death Eater? A former student who had wanted to expose the school to the Dark Lord's schemes? Shame and remorse began to creep up on him as he averted his eyes from the castle, the mere sight of which made him want the ground to open up and swallow him.

He did not know how long he had been standing like that, hesitating, unsure what to do next, when Vil spoke to him.

"Didn't you want to go on?"

"I don't know where to go," he answered bitterly. "Where is the way? Is it across the forest, the castle, or maybe the lake? I think ... I'm lost."

"Perhaps you need help," she suggested.

"Who do you think could help me?" he asked, glancing round in the silent, deserted-looking place.

"Who else if not yourself?" she said with a sigh.

"Thanks," he murmured, "that puts everything into a whole new perspective for me."

He scanned his surroundings nevertheless again, this time reminding himself that the place was not the _real_Hogwarts. His attention was caught by the unknown white thing next to the lake. He felt strangely drawn towards it. Perhaps it was there for his sake; perhaps it would be worth finding out what it was... Carefully, he approached the lake, and soon he recognized the object: It was a white, marble tomb. He gaped at it from a distance, trying to figure out what tomb would be built right in the middle of the school grounds. He had just begun pondering going nearer, to read the inscription perhaps, when he noticed the solitary figure of a human being in the shadows, on the other side of the star-lit whiteness, apparently watching the tomb, too. It was a familiar figure and the prospect of another encounter filled him with dismay. Still, he could not ignore him now.

Walking round the tomb, he approached the man, each step increasing in him unwelcome feelings of disappointment, anger, even despair. The man did not look at Snape until Snape was standing in front of him, quite close. He needed some time to make out the man's face in the darkness. His features bore striking resemblance to those of the Prince, yet, he was not the Prince. Instead of the cold complacency of a powerful man, this face reflected the despair and the restlessness of someone haunted by unspeakable horrors and tragedies.

They stared into each other's eyes for several long moments. In the end, the older one spoke.

"Well, what can I do for you?"

He sounded stern rather than cordial, yet Snape immediately felt he could trust him.

"I'm looking for my way," he replied.

The older Snape nodded.

"Naturally. We all are."

"Will you help me?" he asked eagerly.

The older Snape seemed to hesitate for a moment, then took a few steps ahead and stopped by the white tomb, resting a hand on it as though he needed support. Snape watched him closely, waiting for his answer.

"I can't find the way for you," he said slowly. "But if you do find it, you will find an open door, too."

"The castle has many doors," Snape suggested tentatively.

His older self cast a piercing glance at him.

"Would you like to go to the castle?"

Snape did not respond.

The older man nodded again, the shadow of a superior smile appearing in the corner of his mouth.

"Ah ... I thought so."

"What?" he asked defiantly, offended by the patronizing tone.

"You must learn a few things before you can go through one of _those_ doors - if you ever _want_ to enter, of course."

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, suddenly suspicious.

"I belong to the castle," said the other one in a matter-of-fact way. "At least," he added, "that's what I have believed so far."

"Why, what happened?" asked Snape.

The other Snape turned his face towards the white tomb as though purposefully avoiding his younger self's eyes.

"I failed," he answered quietly. It was apparently very difficult for him to admit that. "I have failed to do my duty properly."

"What duty?"

"I am here to protect the castle".

Snape gaped at his older self incredulously. The idea was amazing, incomprehensible...

"I can't do it any more... It is too difficult. I'm not ... not strong enough. Look."

With his wand hand, he pointed at the sky above the castle, where among hundreds of stars, an eerie constellation caught Snape's eyes. His heart missed a beat as he recognized the sign.

"The Dark Mark..." he breathed. "Death Eaters..."

"I have been protecting the castle against them," said the older Snape.

"So?" he asked fiercely.

"You know very well what that means!" the older man snapped. "That is the mark of ... my failure."

As he was speaking, another Dark Mark materialized on the sky, instantly followed by a third one.

"Do something!" shouted Snape. "You have got a wand!"

The older Snape raised his wand but lowered it immediately again and shook his head.

"Why don't you wake the school? Why don't you tell them to flee or to fight?"

A tormented grimace appeared on the older man's face.

"It is _my_ job," he growled. "I should have stopped the enemy. Don't you understand? I have to do it alone. It is my duty ... I promised."

"Why don't you do it then?" Snape demanded angrily.

"You don't know how much I have done. You don't know how difficult it has been... It is over now. It is the end."

"What will you do now?" he asked in a quieter, constrained voice.

"I will do what I can," replied the other Snape. "But it won't help anyone." He groaned. "I am supposed to keep them ... alive!"

The older man's face had a haunted expression and his despair might have been contagious because Snape could feel it, too. He was almost completely convinced that the job that his older self should have done was far too difficult, far too hopeless for one man to accomplish. His own attempts to find a way out of the tunnel seemed to be equally in vain. The Dark Marks were glimmering malignantly above the castle. He stared at them wondering how anyone could think that Severus Snape was able to protect the school against the Dark Lord's army. Yet ... it would have been gratifying to come to Hogwarts and find that it had happened - or that it was happening. He turned towards the other Snape again.

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked warily.

The other Snape shook his head.

"This is _my_ job," he repeated. "You can't do it for me. You have your own duty, and, as far as I can see, you are neglecting it."

His eyes widened. What could that mean? The older man's gaze was fixed upon a spot right above Snape's shoulder. Slowly, he understood, and he raised his hand to take Vil into his palm. She seemed very ill. She was extremely small, weak and deadly pale. Her body was slightly shaking, her breathing was shallow. He had no idea what had happened to her.

"She was well a little while ago," he mumbled.

The older man raised an eyebrow.

"She looks like someone who has not been well for ages," he said sternly. "Small wonder, too. You need to take better care of her."

"I did not harm her!" snapped Snape. "It is not my fault!"

"Really?" The sarcasm was unmistakable in the otherwise soft voice.

"Someone ... a servant of the Dark Lord ... did something to her," he explained nervously. "I don't know what, but that's the reason ..."

The Snape from Hogwarts stared into the eyes of his younger self so intently that the young man could not bear it. He felt guilty of a crime whose details he did not know, and he averted his eyes, which then fell on Vil's feeble body again. He could feel small vibrations in his palm, caused by the shaking of her body.

"How can you expect me to take care of a school full of people if you cannot even keep _her_ alive?"

"I don't know what to do..." he muttered, gazing at Vil apologetically.

"If _you_ cannot heal her, no one can," said his older self.

He was not a healer. He had some experience of non-professional healing and he knew about potions as much as anyone in his generation, but how was he expected to cure an illness when he did not even know what it was, nor had he anything with a healing effect at hand? It was at this moment that the solution struck him. He reached into his pocket and found the potion bottle containing the fairy lily dew. He poured three drops on her, and looked at his older self, desperately wanting his opinion, even more his approval.

The older man watched him pensively.

"It may work ..." he said in a subdued voice. "I hope you will find your way. I must go now and do my duty." He surveyed the Dark Marks on the sky.

"What are you planning to do?" Snape asked.

"Face the danger," he answered. "Look into the monster's eyes. One must always look into its eyes."

He lifted his wand, held it ready to fight.

"Do you feel now strong enough?"

The older Snape shrugged.

"There are these times when I nearly run out of strength and I must renew it somehow, whatever it takes ... I must get new strength wherever I can find it ... This time from you." His face darkened and his voice hardened for a second. "Sometimes even this thing helps!" With an impulsive gesture, he indicated the white tomb and Snape half-expected him to hit the marble with his fist. However, the touch of his hand on the cold, hard surface was gentle, almost tender, oddly in contrast with his fierce tone.

Vil stirred and sighed deeply. Snape saw that she had grown again and the colour was returning to her cheeks. She blinked.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'll tell you later," he replied calmly. In the distance, the older Snape was striding briskly towards the castle. As he walked, he directed his wand at the sky, where a Dark Mark exploded, fell into pieces and disappeared. There seemed to be a silvery light moving gracefully ahead of him, most of it hidden by his dark figure.

"Do you think he will manage?" Snape whispered

"I hope so," she answered. "But, Severus, look ..." She pointed at the white tomb. On its side, the marble was cracking, and slowly a door appeared and opened wide, revealing a flight of stairs leading downwards.

"There?" he muttered, utterly confused. "Is that _my_ door?"

"It's open," said Vil.

"Will I ever get out of here?" he wondered, sluggishly stepping towards the tomb. He turned round for a second, glancing wistfully towards the castle then back to the open door. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Let's go," he hissed, determined to be brave and strong.

He was already on the first step of the stairs when it occurred to him that he had not even read the inscription after all. It was too late to do it now, however. A powerful wind rose and its force propelled him off the stairs. He was first floating then whirling, in the end descending rapidly, to be swallowed by the unknown depth below.


	6. The Monster's Eyes

Disclaimer: I own none of this.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 6**

_The Monster's Eyes_

He landed on his feet, quite smoothly. Still, it took him at least a minute to stand steadily again and to regain full control of his body and of his senses. Only after that could he begin to examine the place where he had fallen. It was distinctly a more foreboding and intimidating place than anything else he had seen since entering the tunnel, but it did not look like the inside of a tomb at all. Rather, it gave him the impression that he had been turned into a house-elf and tossed into a not yet furnished Gothic cathedral erected by a megalomaniacal architect who had completely forgotten about the doors and the windows.

Despite the absence of openings, there was light in the room, though he could not see where it was coming from. He was surrounded by plain, towering walls and long, slender columns crowned by a vaulted ceiling high above him, in a gigantic single-room building, which made him feel tiny and insignificant. Nothing disturbed the plainness of the walls and the evenness of the vast marble floor. Cold and emptiness were emanating from the place, and Snape knew that something was horribly amiss, and it did not take him long to realize what: He was alone, as alone as he had ever been in his life.

"Vil," he whispered anxiously. No answer came.

"Vil," he repeated more loudly, and then he threw all caution to the wind and shouted: "VIL!!!"

All of a sudden it was as though a hundred different throats roared their replies back to him, "Vil....!"

The thundering echo startled him for a moment, but the deep, hollow silence that followed was much more alarming. He began to walk around, searching for Vil, but he could not find her small figure anywhere. She must have fallen off, been carried away by the wind that had pushed him into the room. The man at Hogwarts had been correct. He should have taken better care of her... He glanced upwards, at the vaulted ceiling, hoping to catch sight of her in a secret hole somewhere perhaps, but he knew, he could feel it deep-down that there was no one, absolutely no one with him in the mysterious building.

Drained, he sat down with his back against a column. He must have made a major mistake somewhere on his way. His prospects seemed desperately bleak. He might have got into another prison instead of the one that he had escaped from. There was no way to go on, there were no locks to open, and there was nobody to ask for help, nobody to fight against. He had no luck potion; in fact he had no food or drink at all. Even worse, he had no idea what he could do; therefore he was resting and waiting to see if anything was going to happen. If nothing happened, his fate would be slow and solitary death, but at least he had tried ... and he would not be _tortured_ to death in front of an array of dark wizards delighting in the sight of his pains - as the Dark Lord had planned for the _traitor _… for him. If something did happen ... it could perhaps make a difference to him – or not at all.

Everything in the tunnel was his own creation, Vil had told him. Had _he_ created this cathedral-sized tomb for himself? Had _he_ created this emptiness, this silence, this solitude? Wouldn't it be better to have a smooth road in front of him and a car or a carriage to transport him towards freedom in an easy and comfortable way? He almost smiled at his own thought - he had never once experienced a smooth road in his life, how could he make one for himself here?

Solitude should not surprise him either. It was amazing that Vil had been able to follow him into the tunnel at all - it was perhaps because she had opened it for him - but solitude was natural. After all, how could any other person enter this tunnel - _his_ tunnel - from outside? It might not be possible at all, but even if it was, he had nobody who would do it, nor would there be any point in allowing anyone to witness _this_.

Just as he had resigned himself to being alone, imagining that Vil might actually be better off without him wherever she was, he was unexpectedly struck by a portentous feeling that he was _not_ alone any more. It was a visceral sensation - he still could not see or hear anyone at all, and yet he knew that he was being watched. He _had to_ stand up and inspect his surroundings. Everything was as still and silent as before; but this fact unnerved rather than calmed him now. Whoever was watching him was either very well hidden or invisible; and he was feeling extremely vulnerable, standing in that large, open space, with no means of defending himself. No attack came, however; but before he could truly start wondering whether he was developing some sort of paranoia, he noticed movement on the walls.

They were _shadows_. Black shadows, somewhat larger than humans, looming on the white stone walls, advancing slowly, more and more of them coming, until they were all around him on every wall.

With a racing heart, he spun around several times, glaring at the shadows, trying to keep equal distance from every one of them, expecting something terrible to happen at any moment. He realized that the shadows had turned the place considerably darker and the temperature seemed to be falling rapidly… One of the shadows began to grow as though it was approaching, and with horror he saw it slip through the wall toward him, and then it was not a shadow any more. Dark and hooded, a Dementor had entered - without a door. The black shadows on the walls were moving again, and silently another Dementor crept inside, then yet another and another ... and afterwards all the rest of them, one by one...

* * * * *

With his head on his father's shoulder, Harry Potter was finally asleep. James Potter stepped to the cot and carefully placed the child into it and covered him with a blanket. It had taken longer than usual for little Harry to fall asleep, but now he was sleeping at last. _This _was normal. In the parents' bedroom, Lily Potter was also asleep, but _that_ was far from being normal. The father quietly left the child's bedroom, went downstairs and began to pace restlessly up and down in the hallway. After a while, he walked upstairs again, and, despite his misgivings, entered the room where his wife was sleeping.

The Draught of Living Death ... James did not like the sound of it at all. When Lily had come home from Hogwarts and told him (briefly) what she was going to do, he could hardly believe his ears. Lily had gone to the school to speak to Dumbledore but she had met Slughorn instead and decided to experiment with a potion that put people into a deep sleep, resembling death. It was something that she had never even heard about before, something that James was almost certain Slughorn himself had never tried.

A three-hour dream-journey just to see how Snape was! He had suggested that Lily should take only a sip of the potion, quickly check on Snape and wake up. Lily had answered quite earnestly that it would be really good if it worked like that, but she could not tell how much time she needed just to direct her dream towards Snape, and it was perfectly possible that three hours of magical dream would only give her a glimpse of him - if she succeeded at all.

He thought it was equally possible that Lily might see more than what she would want to see. She could end up witnessing, for example, how Snape was being killed by Voldemort, an experience that might well haunt her for the rest of her life. If Snape was already dead (and James suspected he was), Lily could be forced to stare at his dead body for several hours in her dream. It did not make any sense to watch without being able to do anything...

Clutching her new wand, Lily was lying on the large double-bed. She was apparently dreaming, but her dream was not a tranquil one. Moaning, she was making violent motions with her arms, throwing herself from one side to the other. As though she was trying to speak, her lips were moving, but no intelligible words left them. Once her face suddenly contorted as though with a scream...

It was a disturbing sight and James found he could not bear observing her for a long time, so he left the room again. What if she did not wake up at the end of the three hours? He would stay with her nevertheless and would send his friends to Hogwarts to fetch that old donkey at once, and he'd better be able to make it right then... He went to the dining room, where he discovered the cat sleeping peacefully on _his_ favourite seat. He regarded the animal with a slightly disgusted look. Then, with a shrug, he sat down on another chair and Summoned a goblet and a bottle of Firewhisky.

* * * * *

Snape's mouth went dry. The Dementors were standing inside the walls of the large and already much darker and colder building, every one of them turning towards him. Snape knew that they were peering at him through their hoods. He had never been face to face with a Dementor before but he knew several ways to tackle them, in theory at least. The problem was that all of these methods required the use of a wand, which he did not have; but even if he had one, what would be his chances of overcoming so many of them?

"Don't panic," he thought to himself. "Must not panic..." Unfortunately, even as he was thinking that, he was obviously panicking - his breathing had changed, his heart was beating at an insane pace, and his mind might have been wiped clean of all sensible thoughts. He was shivering with cold - "_cold, not fear_," he told himself – and he began to hear voices inside his head, angry voices, people yelling at each other, and then other voices laughing and finally a single voice shouting loudly above all the other voices:

"_I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her_!"

He knew who had shouted, and one memory emerged clearly and distinctly from the hazy mass of other memories and it filled him with anger, regret and shame, strong enough to override even his fear of the Dementors. The dark creatures were gliding towards him now. They did not seem to be in a hurry, they were drawing nearer slowly, very slowly. He still had no idea what to do. If he had not said that word back then ... - would he still be standing here facing these monsters? He thought of the Prince, who had claimed to know much more than he did; and he wondered whether the Prince would have the power to resist the attack of Dementors in his shoes... But then he remembered that the Prince had been quite helpless as soon as he had been disarmed. Not even the Prince could fight a large group of Dementors without a wand.

There was nothing else to do but accept the fact that he was powerless against the Dementors. They were quite near now so that they were forming a completely closed circle around him; and he could see nothing else but the darkness of the monsters. The Dementors stopped abruptly. They were so close that he could sense that secret, silent communication was going on between them, and he knew that they were arguing about something, perhaps quite heatedly, but what argument might it be?

At last the debate appeared to come to an end, and one of the Dementors glided out of the circle, towards him. With a chill, Snape suddenly understood what the disagreement had been about: They had been arguing about him. All of them could feast on his unhappy memories but only one of them could fully make him its prey and satisfy its hunger completely, and the one that had won the argument was the one approaching him now...

The Dementor raised a bony, decaying, dead hand to its hood, and Snape knew what was going to happen was worse than death, worse than anything that the Dark Lord could have done to him... His legs lost all their strength and he fell on the floor. The Dementor, still hooded, was leaning above him extremely slowly; perhaps it enjoyed the anticipation of a feast, perhaps it was feeding on the human being's terror and wanted it to last as long as possible.

He shielded his face with his arms and he closed his eyes. He did not want to see what soon would be revealed to him. He was looking for a last thought, a happy memory to think of for the very last time; but what came into his mind was a question, an unexpectedly tormenting question as though knowing the answer to it mattered, as though the answer could change the way he was feeling... Everything in the tunnel was his creation ... had he created these monsters, these Dementors, who were going to destroy him, too? Where was all this darkness in him that despite everything he had learned he could not control? Where was all this self-destructive force coming from?

He could feel the Dementor's cold breath and he knew it was lifting its hood.

"_Look into the monster's eyes_," said a stern voice in his head. "_One must always look into its eyes_."

The words reminded him of something. He had decided to be brave and strong. Cowering did not help. He would look into the Dementor's eyes even if that was the last thing he did... the man from Hogwarts would look into its eyes, too. He opened his eyes and stared straight into the monstrous, dead face, straight into the two empty eye sockets.

The Dementor was gaping back at him, perhaps surprised at being openly looked at, and its movement was brought to a halt. All of a sudden, the empty eye sockets were not empty any more... There was something in both of them, something small but growing. Even if he had wanted, he could not have taken his gaze off the phenomenon now. In each eye socket, a human figure was coming towards him.

One of them soon became clearly visible, a man with black hair, a hooked nose and a baleful expression. He was staring at Tobias Snape, the father long dead now, the father who had never loved him and never wanted him. Tobias Snape's face was growing and growing in the Dementor's eye. It was a cold, angry and resentful face, and it made Severus Snape feel exactly what it had made him feel when he had been a small child: The humiliating conviction that he deserved his rejection and his hostility, the desperate desire to win his approval and appreciation one day and the acute longing for another father, one who could accept him the way he was.

His father was close enough for Snape to look into his eyes, and he saw the anger and the loathing in them, as he always had, but there were other things, too. He saw fear, bitter disappointment and unhappiness as well, and he began to wonder whether they had been there before, whether they had always been there...

From the corner of his eyes, he saw that the figure in the other eye socket was quite near, too. He glanced at it, and he found himself eye to eye with the Dark Lord. The smile on the snake-like visage was icy and ominous, and Snape remembered the moment when he had seen exactly the same smile, accompanied by exactly the same gesture and exactly the same wand movement as now.

It was the day when he had received his Dark Mark from the Dark Lord. It was the day when he had been accepted into the inner circle, the Dark Lord's family, the brotherhood of Death Eaters... He knew it was a moment of great significance in his life, and the Dark Lord saw to the proper ceremony. The initiation took place in the presence of all Death Eaters. It always did, unless the Dark Lord decided to keep someone's Death Eater status a complete secret.

The Dark Lord was sitting in a large armchair. The Death Eaters were watching silently as Snape knelt down in front of him and took his oath of loyalty to him. Then he bared his left forearm, and the Dark Lord touched it with the tip of his wand. He felt a horrible, burning sensation, and he immediately found himself fighting back tears. He was still on his knees, and he bent his head so that his hair fell into his face, hiding it, but he could still feel the Dark Lord's gaze fixed on him.

He thought he could not bear the ignominy of being caught crying because of the unexpected pain. He was sure that Death Eaters never cried, and he realized that their opinion of him would be affected by his fortitude or lack of it in the decisive moment. He did not want a bad start. In the glare of all this attention, he disciplined himself, controlled his own body, and when he stood up finally, with the Dark Mark still burning on his arm, he hoped that his countenance revealed nothing that he had to be ashamed of.

The two figures vanished, and the Dementor was leaning closer to him again, apparently preparing for the kiss. He had already thought it was time to give up and acknowledge defeat, but his life instinct was still fighting. He had no wand, he had no logical thoughts, but his hand was looking for something that could be used as a weapon in ultimate desperation. He did not know how it had happened, but suddenly his hand was gripping a potion bottle, ready to fling it into the Dementor's face. The bottle still contained some fairy lily dew and something else, too, something that had not been there before, something that Snape noticed as he lifted the bottle and held it between his face and the Dementor's.

The potion bottle seemed to be growing into a protective barrier between the attacker and its victim. The Dementor froze again, while the thing in the potion bottle was becoming clearer and clearer. It was another human figure, and he gaped at her in wonder and admiration. Fiery red hair, eyes reminiscent of the green foliage of summer forests - Lily was gazing at him from the potion bottle. Her lips were moving, she was speaking, perhaps even shouting, but no sounds penetrated the unbreakable glass. For a moment, Snape forgot about the Dementors, and his attention was hers alone. He wanted to understand what she was saying but he could not make out the words at all. Even so, he could at least see her, and her image filled his soul, the very soul that was in such great peril now, to the brim.

Behind the glass, behind the fairy lily dew and behind Lily, the Dementor's figure was becoming fainter; and Snape was struck by the realization that the building was full of light again. The dark shapes were retreating toward the walls in every direction, while Lily's face was beaming; and when he was able to glance up again, he saw where the light was coming from, and it caused him to gasp.

A beautiful, silver-white animal, a doe, made of pure light, magnificent and shining, was chasing away the monsters with admirable ease.

Soon the Dementors were completely gone, and the doe was standing still, gracefully turning her head towards Snape. There was a familiar look in her eyes. The light that was radiating from her brightened the huge building. He had never seen anything similar, and he was astonished by her unexpected, timely appearance, by the miraculous help that he had got from an unknown source. He rose to his feet and approached the doe tentatively. Without thinking, he stretched out his hand as though he wanted to stroke her. It was unlikely that this wonderful creature could be touched, and yet he was longing to try.

Just when he thought he could perhaps touch her after all, the doe vanished, and with her the "cathedral" disappeared as well. In not more than a blink of an eye, he was standing on rocky ground, where his boots were washed by water, and fresh, salty breeze was blowing into his hair. There was no sign of the tunnel - he was on the island's coast again. Behind him was the Dark Lord's magical barrier, before him lay the open sea, the waves shimmering under the afternoon sun.

Far away, in Godric's Hollow, Lily Potter woke up from a very deep sleep.


	7. Snape's Patronus

Disclaimer: I own none of this.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 7**

_Snape's Patronus_

Why was a wizard so dependent on his wand? It was annoying. He had overcome the greatest difficulty and got past the protecting enchantments that the Dark Lord had put up around the island. From that point on, it _should _be easy, and it would indeed be easy if only he had a wand… or at least a broomstick. Or some gillyweed to make him swim like a fish.

But that was not all. He had got out of the tunnel by magic that he had not been able to control, and he knew nothing about Vil. Had she been left in the tunnel? In that case, where was she now? Would she come out of the tunnel later? Or had she already got out but somewhere else? He had walked along the coast, looking for signs of Vil, but in vain; and that was the most that he could do.

What he had gone through in the tunnel also gave him plenty of food for thought. Vil had vanished taking her secrets away. The encounters with the Prince and the man at Hogwarts had left him disturbed and uncertain. Then there was the most mysterious question of all, Lily's miraculous appearance in the potion bottle and the doe, the silver-white doe that had saved him from the Dementors… from _his_ Dementors. He still had the potion bottle with the remaining fairy lily dew in it, but Lily's image had disappeared; and the small, round, glass object was resting silently and innocently in his palm whenever he tried to examine it.

Not only was he exhausted, hungry and thirsty now, but his sense of time was completely confused as well. Still, he had to solve the problem of leaving the island; but he was reluctant to go without knowing anything about Vil or about the secrets that had become so important to him. At the same time, he was aware that the danger was far from being over. If someone from the island saw him, he could easily be caught. He was very careful not to touch the invisible barrier; nevertheless a prison guard, a Death Eater or - he shuddered at the thought - the Dark Lord himself might discover him by pure chance.

Soon he had the opportunity to see how real that danger was. He was sitting on a large piece of stone in a place where several large cliffs on the other side of the barrier partially blocked him from the view of chance passers-by, when he heard noises from the direction of the island. He had heard noises before, but those had all turned out to be made by animals. This time, however, two men in prison guard uniforms were coming toward the coast. It was only a matter of time before they could spot him.

There were no real hiding places on the coast. Snape rose to his feet to face the approaching guards. One of them was walking a few steps ahead of the other one. Short of fleeing, there was only one thing he could try. It was wandless magic based on willpower and concentration. It was like a duel between minds, this time against two opponents. He might win but he might lose as well. There would be no second chance… He stared intently at the first guard. _Look into my eyes,_ he thought, and watched without blinking as the guard silently obeyed.

The first guard stopped and turned so abruptly that the other one almost walked into him. Apparently oblivious to the other's protestations, he was heading for the interior of the island. Snape knew that he had to do something about the second guard before he noticed the unfocused eyes of his colleague or before the first guard came to his senses.

He took a few steps so as to stand exactly opposite the second guard, deliberately letting the pebbles clatter under his feet. Soon he was staring into the second guard's shocked face. All the strength he had, except perhaps the strength he needed to remain standing, was concentrated in this stare until the second guard wheeled round too, and meekly followed the first one towards the centre of the island.

_Just about time_, he thought, panting, as if he had run a great distance, and pressing his hand on his aching forehead. He could not have continued concentrating much longer. He needed to rest, or he would be quite powerless if another pair of guards turned up nearby.

_Expecto Patronum… Expecto Patronum…_

The words were strange, they sounded like an unknown spell to him. They were also soothing, comforting. Or maybe it was the voice saying those words that sounded soothing, encouraging… It would have been quite enjoyable if it had not been for the rain that had just started to pour down on him.

He jumped to his feet, realizing that he had fallen asleep. How had he dared? He whirled round, but there was no one in sight. He had been lucky. The island was silent, except for the monotonous tapping of the rain on the cliffs; but he glimpsed something on the sea, near the horizon, behind the curtain of the rain. It was a ship. He cast a long, yearning look at it, and then he sighed. It was far, too far away; and besides, he could not help feeling that he was not quite ready to leave the island yet.

A moment later he was compelled to change his mind. A group of prison guards appeared out of thin air, not very far from him, and he saw them divide into smaller groups with the likely intention of searching the coastline thoroughly. He was angry with himself for remaining on the same spot where he had been. Someone must have found out what had happened to the first two guards. The Dark Lord was said to be able to reverse even strong memory charms; his feeble wandless trick could certainly not keep any secrets from _him_ for long if he was on the island. Some of the guards began to run now, with wands pointed at him. Snape heard them shout and knew he was as good as dead if he stayed on the island any longer.

He had to duck to avoid a spell shooting from the wand of the guard closest to him. There was an ear-splitting noise, like an explosion, as the spell penetrated the invisible protection, and soon another spell came. Yet, he had to stand still to be able to do what was his last resort now. Someone screamed as a tiny body was thrown into the air between him and the coming spell, which missed him. He had about two seconds to act. Instinctively, he caught the whimpering little being, now falling back; then with _deliberation_, he focused his _determination_ on his _destination_ – the ship - and turned on his heel.

Wandless Apparition was technically possible, but instructors tended to strongly discourage anyone from experimenting with it. It could only cover a small distance; the target was almost always missed; and the likelihood of splinching was well above fifty per cent. As far as Snape could tell, he had not splinched; but he had certainly missed his destination. The waves were high, and the distance between him and the moving ship was rather more than arm's length. He could swim but he was not a great swimmer. As a child, he had once fallen into the dirty river near his home, and he had not drowned. His father said any puppy above a certain age would learn to swim when thrown into deep water, but his mother was convinced that it was a sign of her son's magical abilities.

"That was a _brilliant_ idea!" shrieked a voice quite close, making him swallow a large gulp of salt water.

"And right now when I –," Vil could not say more, because an especially huge wave sent them both flying further away from the ship, which was now between them and the island. She screamed again, but made no movements at all. Another huge wave came. Snape, still clutching her, doubled his efforts to reach the ship. It was impossible. He simply could not swim fast enough.

The wind was howling, and the rain was becoming heavier. He was beginning to despair. He heard the distant roaring of an engine and he waved his wand frantically.

"ACCIO LIFE-BOAT!"

He was obviously hallucinating. His was holding Vil, not a wand, in his hand, and his suddenly sore throat could not be the one that had let out that deafening cry for a life-boat. Apart from that, he could actually see the life-boat, detached from the ship, coming towards him. He was obviously hallucinating.

It seemed all his senses were taking part in the hallucination when the side of the life-boat touched his skin. Later, he could not recall how he had climbed into the boat or how the boat was directed back toward the ship. In the end, he was grabbed by strong hands, and he found himself on the deck of the ship, surrounded by sailors. They were talking quite excitedly, but the meaning of their words did not reach him. At last a face with a white beard became clearly distinguishable from the somewhat hazy images around him.

"Can you hear me?" asked the captain of the ship.

He nodded tentatively. The captain was curious to know how he had got into the sea so far away from any shores. He muttered "_island_", but the captain assured him that there were no islands nearby. With some relief, he understood that he was on a Muggle ship. Of course, Muggles could not see the Dark Lord's island.

"I thought … there was one," he lied. "I came in a boat … but I fell into the water…"

"What were you doing in these parts anyway?" said the captain, his strict eyes boring into Snape's.

"It was a … bet."

The captain did not appear to be impressed. Snape was undoubtedly making himself look like a brainless, foolhardy Gryffindor, who loved danger for danger's sake. Fortunately, the captain did not know about Gryffindors and Slytherins, but he knew quite well what stupidity _some_ young people were capable of, and he did not ask any more questions, only informed Snape that the ship was bound for Liverpool.

Snape was given a cup of hot tea and a warm cabin equipped with basic furniture, some blankets and a towel. Then he was left alone. Vil was in his pocket, he had managed to slip her into it before the sailors could notice her. Now he placed her on the small table in the cabin and sat down next to her with a horrible sense of emptiness. The frail little creature was in a worse shape than ever before. Her body was extremely cold and stiff as she was lying on the table with her eyes closed. With a numb hand, he took the towel and began to dry her, and that was how he discovered that her limbs were perfectly immobile. He carefully tried to move her arm but with no success. She might have been Petrified, and even…

He was aware of a strange piercing feeling somewhere inside. Could she be dead, could she have died just when they were finally able to leave the island? Just when they had met again, he could not even tell how, was she really dead now? Worst of all, a little voice in his head kept saying that he was responsible for her death…

He took her wrist between his fingers and held it for a while. He had seen people die before. He had never liked it – but he had been able to close down any emotions that might have risen in him. He had been guarding himself, his sanity and his solitude against the influence of pain, death and life. He had known how to make himself an island when he had wanted to. He had a special gift for that, or so he had believed, but it was not going to work now. Perhaps his special talent had been nothing but ignorance before… He had known too little about life to understand death. It was different now. In the past two days, he had learned about death and he had learned about life enough to be touched by both of them.

His heart skipped a beat, when he could feel her week pulse. She was alive, however stiff and cold she was; and it was his job to heal her now. He continued drying her with the towel. He knew what he had to do. She needed to be dry and warm, and she needed her usual medication.

"Please, don't die," he murmured as he wrapped the dry part of the towel around her.

He placed a chair near the heating, put the pillow from the bed onto the chair; and laid Vil on the pillow.

"I'm not worth it."

He took the potion bottle and poured the last drops of fairy lily dew on her. Her heartbeat seemed more regular now, and her body was getting warmer. Snape was hopeful but he also knew that at the moment he could do nothing more for her.

It was only then that he realized how cold he himself was. His clothes were soaking wet. The tea that he had got from the sailors had become cold, too. He drank it nevertheless just to fill his empty stomach and to rinse the salty taste out of his mouth, but he did not feel any better afterwards.

If only he had a wand… He could not dry his clothes with sheer willpower. He glanced at the bed and the blanket. They looked warm and comfortable, and he was freezing. Wizards rarely died of pneumonia, but his energies were already reaching their limit. He longed to be warm, if only for half an hour. He took off his ice-cold, wet clothes and slipped under the blanket. The warmth of the textile could only slowly penetrate the cold that had encased him, and sometimes he thought he could still hear the faraway sounds of the spells fired by the guards. Yet, after a while he began to feel comfortably and wonderfully warm… He did not intend to fall asleep.

* * * * *

"Severus," whispered Lily in a small voice. "Severus, it's time to wake up." He obediently opened his eyes, and Lily disappeared. Vil was standing by his side, leaning above his face. She was pale and tired but unquestionably alive and moving.

"What's happened?" he asked, thinking of the Dark Lord.

"We must talk," she said with uncharacteristic seriousness in her voice.

"I'm not fully awake yet," he said, wishing he could continue his dream.

"Then hurry up. We must talk before we reach the harbour."

The truth was that his heart was almost bouncing with joy at the sight of her, and he was curious to hear what she was going to tell him, but he had long lost the ability to share joy or pleasure with anyone. He sat up, and suddenly pulled the blanket more tightly around himself.

"I, too, have some questions that I want to ask you, but first you must leave me alone for a few minutes."

Vil was studying her own hands, deep in thought.

"What for?" she said absent-mindedly.

He raised his eyebrows. Was she being cheeky?

"I'm not quite fit for a serious conversation with a … a _lady_ at the moment," he muttered.

Vil gazed at him as though she was trying to guess what he meant.

"I'll be back in two minutes," she said finally, with her nose high in the air.

She went to the door, touched it, and the door opened wide, then closed with a loud bang. Snape sent an indignant look after her. If anyone on the ship perceived something odd and wanted to ask questions, he, not Vil, would be the one to invent a believable explanation. But then he found that his clothes were completely dry. She must have taken care of that while he had been sleeping.

Despite what Vil had said, at least fifteen minutes passed before the cabin door opened again to allow a bread basket with six croissants in it to float inside, closely followed by a bottle of orange juice. Vil entered last, waving her hands as if she was conducting an orchestra. Snape said nothing until he devoured two croissants (they were not exactly fresh, but he did not care) and drank almost half of the orange juice.

"You have stolen these from the kitchen," he said at last, reaching for the third croissant.

Vil nodded.

"Very well done," he said. "I was starving. How many Muggles saw the flying food?"

"Don't worry," she replied, apparently not wishing to discuss this topic any further.

Snape watched her closely.

"I'm listening," he said to her. "What's bothering you?"

She smiled a little.

"We can start with _your _questions."

He hesitated for an instant only.

"Where were you and how did you find me again? I was looking for you everywhere … and I saw some strange things in the tunnel."

He quickly related his encounter with the Dementors, Lily's appearance and the silver doe coming to his rescue.

"I can explain the doe easily," she began slowly.

"Every human being has a guardian or companion… a spirit who belongs to them and whose job is to help and protect them – against Dementors, for example. Muggles don't see them, but wizards and witches do, although it happens very rarely that Patronuses show their true forms to humans. Instead, they usually appear in the shape of an animal; and this animal represents the most important quality or interest of a particular human. It can be a bird, a lion, a turtle or a lobster … anything. People with magical talent can learn to call their Patronuses to their side when they need them."

"Do you think the doe was a Patronus?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Definitely," said Vil.

"But I did not call her … I don't even know how it is done. Any anyway… she can't have been _my_ Patronus."

He could not think of anything in himself that could be represented by a doe.

"Someone called her," she said quietly. "Someone must have been with you in the tunnel … in _some_ form ... and cast the Patronus spell."

He recalled the image of Lily shouting words that he could not hear… Had Lily been really in contact with him, had she saved him by calling the doe? Had the _real_ Lily tried to help him?

"How is it possible?" he asked. "I did see Lily, but I thought she was no more real than my father in the Dementor's eye."

"Someone cast the spell that saved you," she said earnestly. "If you ask me, I think her presence in the tunnel seems to have been quite real."

"Do you know the spell?" he asked abruptly. "I mean … I must have my own Patronus, too. Everybody has one…"

For a moment, he imagined the doe as his own Patronus, a wonderful, shining being belonging to him, but immediately afterwards he felt a little ashamed. What was he thinking? The doe would forever mean Lily to him, but his Patronus could not be anything so glamorous. He should be happy if it could shine at all.

"Everybody has a Patronus," she repeated gingerly. "But the full truth is that sometimes the human and the Patronus are separated from each other. Patronuses… sometimes suffer because of their humans."

"They are but light, nothing else," he said. "Who could hurt them?"

"Humans can hurt them," she answered, "their own humans. You are right that they are nothing but light; and the only thing that can cause them pain is darkness."

"Darkness…" he repeated.

"When a human is attracted to dark forces … evil forces … there are only two things that can happen to a Patronus. Either the Patronus becomes a dark force, too, – it may happen when the human has been able to do the Patronus Charm before, and, as a result, the bond between them is quite strong – or the connection between the Patronus and the human breaks. For example, I doubt you would find a servant of the Dark Lord who could invoke a Patronus."

He gaped at her in silence for a while before he could speak again.

"What happens to the Patronus when the connection breaks?"

She cast a troubled look at him.

"That is when the Patronus starts suffering. They gradually lose their light and their magical power. It is a painful, miserable existence often dependent on a certain substance that can keep them alive, although they are weak and vulnerable… easy prey to a lot of things. Eventually, when their light fades completely, they will die. It may take several years – but not much longer."

There was no need to continue.

"I understand," he said with a painful jolt of shame. "I was a Death Eater, and if you are right, I must have lost my Patronus a long time ago."

She hesitated.

"Under certain circumstances … the bond between the human and the Patronus can be restored. It is not easy and it very rarely happens – but it is not unheard of."

Snape let out a bitter sigh.

"Do you think it could happen to _me_ of all people?"

"Yes," she said and her lips trembled a little. "That is why I wanted to talk to you."

Snape watched as her figure began to radiate the silvery beam of light he had recently seen so often. In the beginning at least, it resembled the usual beam of light, but then it started to multiply. Each of her fingertips was emitting a separate beam of light, every one of which was directed toward him, until the beams found his fingertips and seemed to end there. It was a pleasant sensation as the light beams streamed into his fingers and then invisibly travelled into his mind and to every inch of his body. He could not move or speak, and yet he was feeling strikingly alive.

In the meantime, Vil was visibly growing, and, as she grew, the light covered more and more of her slender figure, until she was the size of a grown up human and her physical body entirely turned into light. Then the beams joining their hands vanished, and it seemed her transformation had been completed.

"I belonged to you from the moment of your birth," she said quietly. "I am everything good that you have, I am the light that you have - and more. The bond between us has just been recreated now."

He opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words. The connection between Vil, small and fragile, and the heartbreakingly beautiful, shining light-being in front of him was simply incomprehensible. He found it equally unlikely that someone like _her_ could belong to _him_.

"This is my true shape," she said, "which I lost when you were lured to the power of the dark side. I could only exist in the shape of a sickly, miniature witch, and I needed fairy lily dew to renew my health and my magical powers from time to time. I was weak, unhappy and hardly fit for life."

There was a long silence, and Snape had the impression that she was reluctant to continue. But he did not want to be spared now.

"When you said that you had been hurt by a servant of the Dark Lord," he said, forcing the words out of himself with some difficulty, "did you mean – _me_?"

Her eyes gave a silent reply, which he could comprehend perfectly.

"My light was gradually fading, and I was living in increasing darkness. The change hurt me, and I confess I was very angry with you."

He understood her anger, and he wished he could tell it to her, but words had frozen in his throat, and he was not able to utter a single sound. Unwittingly, he had almost killed her. How many other such mistakes was he yet to discover in his past? What should he say to her now? "Sorry" would have sounded pathetically inadequate. But she did not seem to expect him to say anything.

"You once asked me how I had got into the prison cell where we met. If I had answered, I would have had to reveal to you who I was, and I did not trust you then. Now I can tell you."

She did not scold him; in fact, she looked so kind that her kindness was almost painful.

"It seems I retained some traces of our previous connection during all this time. One day some powerful magic dragged me out of my everyday misery to a faraway, dark place. I travelled very fast, and it was a tormenting journey, but the magic that took me to the island was stronger than the Dark Lord's protective enchantments because they did not stop me then. I arrived at the prison cell where a witch and a wizard were held captive. I did not know where I was or why I was there. I might have tried to escape if my magic had not been weakened by the journey and later by the continued lack of fairy lily dew. But I did not have to wait long and you came."

"I suppose it was not a coincidence," he muttered.

"No, it was not. I was flown to the place where you were drawn by love and by good intentions, ready to give up your own life for hers. It was the only thing that could give us hope that the connection between us might be re-established. I did not see that then as clearly as I see it now, and I must tell you my sentiments about you when I first talked to you were rather mixed."

"You could have died with me."

"Exactly," she said, "though, of course, I would have died quite soon anyway."

Snape gaped at her with a very pale face. He did not deserve her, and yet she was his Patronus, and she was strong and beautiful.

"The tunnel," he said, suddenly realizing something. "You were able to open it for me because you had been my Patronus…"

"And I could not have done that for anyone else but you."

"What happened to you when I lost you in the tunnel?"

"Being in your tunnel, I could feel more and more that I was your Patronus. My strength and my magical power began to grow very quickly after you had treated me with the fairy lily dew. As a result, I almost regained my original light-body – but only almost. You see, the bond between us had not been properly re-established yet. I was with you all the time, in the form of shapeless light in the room, but you could not recognize me, of course, and I was not able to do anything. I changed back into Vil while you were asleep on the coast, but you did not notice me when you woke up."

"When the guards attacked, you saved me from a curse," he said.

"Protection is the instinct of a Patronus," she answered softly.

He looked away.

"There is still something that I don't understand. You said everything in the tunnel was my creation – how could the _real_ Lily enter my tunnel?

She pondered the answer for a while.

"I don't know what magic she used to find you in the first place, but I know about one thing only that could make it possible for anyone to enter _your_ tunnel."

"What do you mean?" he asked eagerly, but she smiled again.

"Can't you guess?"

He stared at her.

"No," he said very quietly.

She sighed.

"Why do you think it was Lily of all people who appeared in your tunnel?"

"Because…" he gulped, "because I love her?"

He flushed as he spoke. Now that he did not expect to die any moment, it was a very difficult topic.

"Not quite," she answered, "but you are getting close."

He understood. For a second, he wanted to believe it. Then he shook his head.

"Impossible. You know that very well. She does not… she can't..."

He could not finish the sentence.

She raised her arms and her hands cast two light beams intertwining around Snape.

"You can call me, when you need me," she said. "I am never far away from you."

With these words, she vanished, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * * * *

**This story is almost finished. There will be one more chapter.**


	8. A Second Chance

Disclaimer: The HP world belongs to JK Rowling.

**A Prison Tale**

**Chapter 8**

_A Second Chance_

His thoughts, however, made him restless. They were completely circular and took him nowhere. Vil, Lily, the doe, again and again. He went to the small cabin window and peered through it. It was already dark outside, the rain had stopped, the sea was glittering black, and a billion distant lights told him that the ship was approaching the harbour.

Suddenly, he could not bear staying in the small, enclosed space that the cabin provided. He sneaked to the deck, very quietly, trying to avoid being seen by anyone. He did not want to be questioned, and he guessed, as a stranger, he was not supposed to walk about the ship.

The idea of imminent arrival reminded him of some pressing questions. As soon as he set foot in the harbour, he would have to decide where to go next. Leaning against the balustrade, he watched the silver-coloured moonlight bridge shining over the dark water. He realized that he was practically homeless. The Dark Lord knew his address, therefore he could not think of going even near his house any more. But somewhere he would have to be and something he would have to do… He almost wished the ship would slow down a little to give him more time to make a plan.

His meditation was disturbed by an unexpected noise. It did not come from the ship, it came from above, and, as he turned and glanced up, he saw a peculiar object descending toward him from the skies. The sound it was making was the sound of an engine, and before he could have decided on a way to escape, it had landed on the deck, right in front of him, so that he found himself stuck between the balustrade and a _motorbike_.

The driver of the vehicle was holding a wand, pointing it directly into Snape's face. With his left hand, he took off his helmet, fully revealing a face that girls tended to find extremely handsome, but Snape loathed from the bottom of his heart.

"I suggest you come quietly, Mister … and quickly," Sirius Black hissed with a vicious glint in his eyes.

It was cold and windy high up in the air, and the motorbike was still climbing. If it was a precaution against Muggles spotting the flying vehicle, Snape thought it was too little and too late. The sailors must have already noticed something. In his mind's eye, he was visualizing the headlines of next day's Muggle newspapers. _Sailors Saw Flying Motorbike_, _Mysterious Flying Object near Liverpool…_The night was quite chilly, and Snape, who was obviously not dressed warm enough for the late-night flight high above the sea, did his best to conceal how cold he was feeling. Black was way too close, and Snape would have hated to give Black a reason to think that he was trembling with _fear_.

But that was not his main problem at all. He urgently had to design his strategies for the immediate future. Unfortunately, it was difficult to plan anything without knowing where he was being taken by Black, who had forced him to get on the motorbike at wandpoint. In fact, the possibilities were alarmingly many.

To start with, Black had been Potter's sidekick and all-round partner in crime from day one at school. That made it possible that Black was, too, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, just like his one-time gang leader. An Order member would certainly capture a Death Eater with pleasure. Snape had helped Potter and Lily escape from the Dark Lord's prison, but the Longbottoms were also Order members, and Dumbledore knew who had overheard the Prophecy in the first place… What if the Dark Lord had found them and _he_ would be blamed for their deaths?

Secondly, Order members did not usually hunt for individual Death Eaters, as it was the job of aurors, therefore he could not rule out the possibility that Black had become an auror. Like everyone else, Snape also knew that Barty Crouch had taken a hard line on Death Eaters at the Ministry. If he was captured by an auror, he would doubtless be tortured for information and end up in Azkaban before he could say two words in defence of himself.

Thirdly, there was the fact that one could never be quite sure about a Black. What if he had been secretly recruited by the Dark Lord? After all, his brother Regulus had joined, too, and Bellatrix was his cousin. The Black family generally supported the Dark Lord. Snape had no knowledge of Sirius Black being a Death Eater, but then he would never have claimed to know all the secrets of the Dark Lord. Actually, Sirius Black, with his connections on both sides, could make an ideal spy for the Dark Lord. Besides, Black did not seem to have found him by accident; and if Black had been looking for him, how else would he have known where to go if not from the Dark Lord? Only the Dark Lord and those he had confided in knew the exact location of the island on the sea. He might well have sent out a search party to watch the sea, as he had sent out another search party to comb the island…

The bike started to descend at last, and soon landed on what seemed to be a completely deserted field, illuminated by nothing else but the stars. Black jumped off the vehicle and signalled for Snape to do the same. Deeming it unlikely that he could start the bike without a wand and against its owner's will, Snape shot a filthy glance at Black and got off, too. Black produced a small bag, from which he took out something that smelt delicious, and he stuck it under Snape's nose.

"Care for a chicken sandwich?" he asked casually, as if he had brought him on a picnic.

Insulted, he turned down the offer by roughly pushing Black's hand away.

"Butterbeer?" continued Black with elegant indifference.

Snape did not touch the drink either. Black, however, ate with great appetite. Snape could tell he was enjoying himself tremendously. Snape's temples were pounding with anger at this sight and at his own helpless situation. He had considered trying another wandless Disapparition and even an attack, but Black was too close to him with his wand and he did not take his eyes off Snape for moment. Snape was quite certain that Black would gladly hex or curse him for the slightest reason, so for the time being he waited and watched.

When Black had eaten and drunk his fill, he wiped his mouth and cast a curious look at Snape.

"Well, it is time to discuss where we are going," he said, sporting one of his hideous smirks.

"I suppose," said Snape, staring at Black with cold fury, "it is wherever those who sent you after me happen to be found."

"In that case," said Black lazily, "our destination is the home of Mr and Mrs Potter."

Seeing Snape's expression, he broke into a loud, deep laugh, and opened his bag again. He took out a sandwich and threw it towards Snape.

"Don't worry, they are not poisoned. Lily made them. Just hurry up because I'd rather travel while the night lasts."

He was holding the sandwich in his hand, feeling extremely stupid. Was it possible? Could Lily be in the background again? Of course, Black had been capable of worse jokes than that, so he had better be careful.

Black was still laughing. Snape's eyes caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds. The laughter ceased.

"Stop doing that, all right?" Black growled suddenly, slightly raising his wand.

Snape did not even blink, but his lips curled up a little, as he saw that Black was unnerved. The brief Legilimency, however, confirmed what Black had said, and Snape saw no point in provoking him any further. Still, he was not going to trust Black too easily.

"How did you find me?" he asked with suspicion.

Black shrugged.

"James wanted to borrow my bike to get you, but I preferred to come myself. _She_ is not used to anyone else." He touched the motorbike, with an almost caressing gesture.

Snape frowned. It was abnormal to talk about a mere machine as though it was a woman.

"How did _they_ know where I was?" he asked, sounding calm but feeling unexpectedly excited. Perhaps now he would find out … _something_.

"Magic," said Black. "I don't know any details. They told me where you were, and asked me to fetch you. They talked about an island though – and I found you in the sea."

"You found me on a ship," he corrected, but Black shook his head.

"You can't expect me to _land_ on water with this bike," he said, grinning. "But I did what I could for you. Afterwards I was following the ship, waiting for the night and hoping to catch a glimpse of you."

These words rendered Snape speechless. Being rescued by Black of all people seemed to be more like a curse than a blessing, and he could not help loathing the triumphant grin that reminded him all too much of some of the worst moments of his teenage years. On the other hand, the chicken sandwich that Lily had prepared still had a delicious smell, and the flight had made him hungry again. Slowly, he began to eat, as though he did not quite trust the food, but the chicken was good. Then he grudgingly accepted a bottle of butterbeer, too.

Black climbed back onto the motorbike.

"So where do you want to go again?" he asked. "To the Potters?"

Snape was pondering the question. The idea of seeing Lily was undoubtedly attractive, but he did not feel he was quite up to meeting _Mrs Potter_. Seeking refuge at the Potters' home, being escorted there by Sirius Black, while still wearing James Potter's robes was among the last things he would ever have chosen to do. Not even Black could mean it seriously.

"Take me to Hogwarts," he said with decision. "Take me to Dumbledore."

The rising sun found them outside the gates of Hogwarts. Uneasily, Snape watched the castle towering above them, its walls red in the early morning light. He knew that he had made a life-turning choice by coming here, but what exactly he could expect to happen to him behind those gates he could not tell.

"Well," said Black.

Snape turned and saw that Black was ready to leave with his motorbike. Was it time to say goodbye? Maybe something else, too? But before he could decide on anything, Black spoke.

"Do you know … anything about my brother? I mean - is he … all right?" he asked in a changed voice, staring into the air somewhere beside Snape, who all of a sudden understood that Black had waited for this moment since their meeting on the ship.

"No," he said. "I haven't seen him lately. He wasn't caught, was he?"

"I would know about that," said Black dryly. "What do you mean by not having seen him?"

"He has apparently disappeared," he said slowly, "but I don't know what happened. Maybe the Dark Lord gave him a secret job…"

He did not really believe what he had said. Regulus Black's Death Eater relatives were conspicuously silent and secretive but also nervous, when his name had been mentioned recently.

"You don't reckon," Black continued in a hoarse voice, "you don't reckon the idiot got himself killed?"

"I don't know," he answered. "He seemed weird the last time we met - but – I did not know him that well."

It was certainly true. Regulus Black had always kept to a select group of pure-bloods (mostly Black relations), and he had a proud, aristocratic air that made lesser mortals want to stay away unless they had a very good excuse to approach him.

"Weird like … like someone who had changed his mind?" asked Black, several shades paler.

Snape hesitated. He had not thought of that then, but in those days he would not have imagined that any Death Eater would dare change his mind – and now he himself had done exactly that.

"Perhaps," he answered. "But you can't hide from the Dark Lord for long."

Black threw a sharp look at him.

"Good luck then," he said, and, with a roaring engine, the motorbike shot towards the skies.

* * * * *

The school was noisy, as schools usually are when students hurry from one class to the other, but the library was still a relatively quiet place, where the shouts, the tapping of dozens of feet and the sounds of the occasional fights were calmed into a distant murmur. Snape had taken refuge in an armchair behind a large shelf full of journals and periodicals and pretended to be reading. Unfortunately, the only person he was trying to fool with this pretence was painfully aware of the truth. It was Snape himself, desperately clinging to a copy of an international potions journal in a futile attempt to get rid of his anxiety.

He had been in Hogwarts for two days now. After his arrival, he had soon had an opportunity to speak with Dumbledore. In retrospect, he was not impressed with himself. It had been an awkward situation, and he had almost regretted having chosen to come to Hogwarts. He had not been able to give an intelligent explanation of why he was there, while Dumbledore had obviously expected him to say certain things. It was easy to guess it now what Dumbledore must have wanted to hear – but as far as Snape could remember he had not mentioned that he was sorry and remorseful, and he had not even asked for refuge or anything else. He had merely been confused and embarrassed, and he would not have been surprised if the old man had sent him away or handed him over to the aurors immediately.

In spite of that, the conversation had turned out to be a long one, with Snape eventually giving Dumbledore a full confession regarding his history as a Death Eater, and answering numerous questions about the Dark Lord. In the end, a grave-looking Dumbledore said he could stay at Hogwarts for a while if he wanted, and appointed a time when they would meet next. This meeting was to start in less than half an hour. Snape realized that Dumbledore had needed these two days to make a decision about his fate. It was actually a good sign that he was still at Hogwarts – the Headmaster was in no hurry to notify the aurors at least. Still, he could not think of Dumbledore without disquiet.

At first, he had liked his stay in the school. After all, he did find refuge there, and he was allowed to enjoy the privileges of a guest. Yet, when he had rested a little, the uncertainty of his position began to eat away at him. His future was still unclear; and between the revenge of the Dark Lord and the condemnation of most of the wizarding world, there seemed to be very little room for anything that even resembled a normal life.

He put the journal back to its place on the shelf, and left the library. He did not want to be late. He braced himself as he opened the door of Dumbledore's office, imagining for a moment that he would find the Headmaster in the company of aurors; but the sight of the person who was sitting opposite Dumbledore took him by complete surprise.

Lily rose from her seat as soon as he entered.

"Thank you," she said to Dumbledore. "I don't want to hold you up any longer. I can talk to Severus afterwards."

She left with barely a glance at Snape, but that glance was enough to make his heart leap and to send a quiver through his whole body. Dumbledore had to tell him twice to sit down before he did as he had been told, and even then he seriously doubted that he would be any good at the conversation that was to come.

The professor watched him observantly for a while before he spoke.

"I suppose after what happened, you have no more reason to consider yourself Lord Voldemort's follower," he began.

He gaped at Dumbledore, swallowed, and answered.

"I am not his follower any more."

"I would like to believe," said Dumbledore, "that you understand now why it was a mistake to join him in the first place.

He only nodded. He could not think of anything eloquent to say and simply repeating Dumbledore's words again seemed to be humiliatingly stupid. Dumbledore must have already thought that he was a complete moron.

"Have you got any plans?" asked Dumbledore abruptly.

"What … what do you mean?" he stammered, still in utter confusion. Why, why did he have to have an almost completely empty mind just right now?

"I understand that you have certain problems you must address."

For the moment, his most immediate problem appeared to be Lily's allusion to "speaking to Severus afterwards", but he saw what Dumbledore meant. How could he have any plans when he did not know what to expect to happen within an hour? He took a deep breath.

"I thought you were considering informing the aurors about me," he said quietly.

Dumbledore was thinking.

"I could do that," he answered, measuring his words carefully. "You undoubtedly broke the law, even though certain things are clearly in your favour. But I don't think it would be the best decision now."

Dumbledore paused.

"If you don't have any other plans," he continued after a moment's silence, "you can stay here, at Hogwarts. Professor Slughorn has recently mentioned that the various tasks coming with his position are too much of a … burden … for him. He is not only a teacher and the Head of Slytherin House, but he is also responsible for the school's potion supply, including the potions used in the hospital wing. Professor Slughorn says you are an excellent potion maker."

Snape suddenly wished with all his heart that Professor Slughorn might never have a reason to regard him as anything else but an excellent potion maker.

"Therefore he would be willing to accept you as his assistant, who would take over the job of making potions for the school and looking after the supply of ingredients necessary for the Potions classes and other school purposes. Would you be interested in this job?"

It could not be true… He had envisaged several possible outcomes for this conversation, but he had never dreamed of this. With the Dark Mark on his arm, fleeing from the Dark Lord, he was being offered a job at Hogwarts and by no one else but Dumbledore himself…

The Headmaster seemed to have guessed his thoughts.

"After all, you have already applied for a Hogwarts job once," he added with a piercing look at Snape.

If Dumbledore had wanted to say something to silence Snape completely, that was the very sentence. He bit his lips and avoided Dumbledore's gaze.

"You may need some time to consider -"

"No," he interrupted, "of course, I accept the job and … I'm sorry," he said with burning cheeks.

"That is settled then," Dumbledore replied. "But there is also something else I have for you."

He opened a drawer of his desk, and took out a wand… Snape's wand.

"Lily and James were kind enough to leave this in my care," said Dumbledore with a serious face. "By examining it, I was able to determine the exact location of Voldemort's prison island, eventually enabling Sirius to find you. Of course, the importance of this information far exceeds the significance of this single occasion."

Snape's eyes were fixed on his wand, and he felt his wand-hand prickle with the urge to touch it again. At the same time he realized that a minute examination of the wand could uncover more, much more than the whereabouts of the Dark Lord's prison. A wand contained the largest part of a wizard's life and could reveal it all if someone only took the trouble to inspect the wand thoroughly. He rose to take the wand from Dumbledore's hands, experiencing the same warm feeling that he had once experienced when he had first got into contact with the wand on a summer day in Ollivander's shop.

He wanted to try the wand immediately, to see if it was still working for him as it had worked before. It was strange that the first spell that came into his mind was a spell that he had never pronounced before. At least he was now absolutely sure that it was a spell, and he knew what it was used for.

"Expecto Patronum!" he said ardently.

To his dismay, nothing happened. He glared at the wand, wondering if he had alienated it by giving it to Potter in the prison.

"It is difficult magic," said a calm voice.

He started, and regarded Dumbledore, whose watchful presence he had almost forgotten, with a sort of shock. Difficult magic! The last thing he needed was to prove himself a total failure of a wizard in front of the man his whole existence depended on now and whose magical power was both intimidating and legendary.

"The spell is not enough. You need to think of a strong happy memory as well."

He could not help reacting with a little groan at having given himself away in this stupid way. Now there was nothing else to do but to rectify the mistake and to show that he was not quite as useless as he might have appeared to be. A happy memory… He did not have many of the truly happy ones, of the ones that had not yet turned from happy into bitter over the years … and he needed a really strong one now because he could not afford another blunder. He closed his eyes, and he saw Lily's image in the potion bottle, saw the silver-white doe sent to him by Lily, and simultaneously he heard Vil's words: "_I know about one thing only that could make it possible for anyone to enter your tunnel."_

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted.

A silvery light burst out of the tip of his wand, and immediately a silver-white doe, the twin of the one that had rescued him from the Dementors, was bouncing happily round the circular office. She ran a few circles around Dumbledore; then stopped and squinted playfully at Snape. Her eyes were Vil's eyes, glittering with joy now. The doe sent an embracing light-beam toward him, and vanished.

Snape's mind was in an even worse turmoil than before. He had already realized that it would have been much wiser to perform his first ever Patronus Charm privately, but not even he could have expected his Patronus to behave in such a flippant manner or to appear in the shape of Lily's Patronus, betraying whatever secrets he could have had left from Dumbledore. It was only later that his mind grasped the full significance of having a Patronus identical in shape with Lily's. Now, he was only gaping at Dumbledore, whose expression reflected surprise and – perhaps for the first time since Snape's arrival – genuine kindness.

"Was it the first time that you had cast a Patronus?" Dumbledore asked as though it was a question of importance.

"Obviously," he muttered.

"The Patronus never lies," said the Headmaster earnestly. He was also standing now, scrutinizing Snape silently for a minute.

"You know, Severus," he said finally, "Lord Voldemort wants to murder the Longbottom family, hoping to secure his own future. But he does not know … he does not understand how the Prophecy works."

Snape stared at Dumbledore with the clear foreboding that he was going to hear some very bad news.

"Ironically, the Longbottoms are not the _only_ people the Prophecy could refer to."

Snape's face turned all white and he could feel a giant's hand squeezing his stomach into a tiny knot. A scene of horror and tragedy flashed through his mind. He heard Lily screaming with terror, screaming for her child and for her husband. He saw Lily dead. He knew that it could all happen if the Dark Lord concluded that Lily's child was a special danger to him, and he realized that it could even happen without _that_.

"I believe the Dark Lord is unaware of other possibilities," he said when he found his voice again, "but she – they – I mean … more people need to be protected then… just in case. _He_ … must be stopped."

He cast an imploring look at Dumbledore, whose gaze might have penetrated into his soul.

"Stopping him is what some of us are trying to do," said the Headmaster gravely. "I wonder if you would be willing to help. Would you like to join the Order of the Phoenix?"

He was astounded by yet another unexpected offer. Could Dumbledore really accept him as a member of his own army?

"I want you to understand that this question is completely independent of your job as Horace's assistant," Dumbledore added.

_Ah. So_ _no pressure_… Snape thought of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, he thought of Lily in the dark prison cell, and he thought of the Longbottoms and all those black doors in the prison building. He remembered the Cruciatus Curse, and he remembered the Prince and his older self at "Hogwarts". He saw again his Patronus and Lily's… and then Lily again. He knew that there was no way for him to stand aside. He was already deeply involved.

"If you are willing to take me," he answered slowly, meeting Dumbledore's sky-blue eyes, "I will do anything to fight_him_."

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, apparently satisfied.

* * * * *

Not much later, Dumbledore was standing by the window of his office, watching the well-known scenery. It was class time, and he could see only two people walking across the grounds. Far away as they were, they could have been students ... a red-haired girl and a black-haired boy deep in conversation. His silent musing was interrupted by a sharp voice.

"I would never have assumed _that_, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore turned and smiled at the talking portrait of a sly-faced wizard.

"Isn't it fascinating," he said, stepping closer to the painting, "to watch the moment when a wizard takes his wand into his hands again after a few days of separation? It is quite as telling as the very first occasion. But pardon me, Phineas … you were saying?"

"I said I would never have assumed that you were recruiting people for your Order when they were out of their right minds," said the wizard in the painting.

"I have no idea what you mean," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes.

"Don't try to fool me," snapped the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. "That poor wretch is head over heels in love with the woman who was waiting for him just behind that door. How could he have given any other answer to your question, even if he was going to regret it later?"

"I cannot answer for anybody's happiness," replied Dumbledore, "but this young man needs to _belong_ most of all. He also needs a little taming and training, and it is my responsibility now."

He walked to his desk, throwing a last side-glance at the portrait-wizard, who was snorting disapprovingly.

"Of course, as you may have guessed, Phineas, the Order needs him, too."

THE END

**Author's Note: **

**If you have read this fanfic and liked it, I would be glad if you let me know.**

**Snape's**** story continues in **_**A Forest Tale.**_


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